


Signed, Sealed, Delivered

by buffymysavior, Hcpelesshcney



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - High School, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, High School, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Love Triangles, Multi, To All The Boys I've Loved Before AU, petty characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-06-30 06:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 79,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15745902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffymysavior/pseuds/buffymysavior, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hcpelesshcney/pseuds/Hcpelesshcney
Summary: "What do you mean I sent you a letter? Jonah I—""Hey, it's cool. I'm flattered, honestly, but Amber and I just broke up and I'm really not looking for another relationship so soon."Buffy feels like she's going to faint, her throat tight and itchy at the sight of the letter clutched in Jonah's hand. That was her letter, with her handwriting, and her stamp. From her hatbox. That was missing.God.





	1. Chapter 1

The last thing Buffy’s mom ever gave her was a round hatbox, the kind that had, once upon a time, held something expensive. It was covered in deep purple velvet, a satin ribbon of the same color tied around the lid. Growing up, she used it to hold things she collected—seashells from her family’s stay in France when she was three, rocks from the mountains in Germany when she was six, dried out flower bulbs from Denmark when she was seven. Usually, these were things she wanted to keep away from prying eyes, but the older she grew, the less interested she became in collecting those kinds of things.

As she grew older, she stopped saving rocks and seashells and started collecting love letters. They weren’t the kind that she had received from someone, because even though Buffy read about romance more times than she could count, she had yet to be in a serious relationship. No, these were love letters she’d written; her heart poured out over thick, fancy writing paper in swirling black gel pen. These letters were her love folded into words that she kept in her hatbox.

As of her fourth grade year, her family moved to Virginia, and promptly _stopped_ moving, for a variety of reasons. The biggest of them being this—her mother was buried in Arlington, and there was no way her father could move from Shadyside without feeling guilty, even just a little. The least of them was this—her father really hated packing, and wasn’t going to even _think_ about it if he didn’t need to. As it were, they stayed.

The letters started as an outlet—not necessarily in a romantic sense. After her mother passed away, the entire Driscoll family was thrown off its axis. Her father struggled to handle working a full-time job _and_ raising a pre-teen, and Buffy struggled with…everything.

Buffy felt like she was sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool, the world around her hazy and muffled. She acted out at school, got into fights at school, drove her father up the wall. She broke down at night, her heart aching for her mom every time she woke up from a dream. Eventually, she shattered completely, her tears blurring the worksheet on her desk, her heart a torn up mess at her feet. Her English teacher scooped her up and lead her towards the counselor's office, depositing her unceremoniously onto the old couch tucked away in the corner.

The counselor, a plush old woman named Mrs. McPhetridge whose frizzy grey hair and kind eyes reminded Buffy of pity, let her sit on that old couch and cry until she was empty. At the end of it all, Buffy wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Mrs. McPhetridge had said, passing her a box of tissues, “Your feelings don’t need to be categorized.” Then, after Buffy had torn her wet tissue to shreds, after Mrs. McPhetridge had filled a paper Dixie cup with water and Buffy had gulped it down, Mrs. McPhetridge produced a faded piece of lined paper and a nubby old pencil, and passed them both over to Buffy.

Writing it down, she had said, would make the pain ache less. It wouldn’t take everything away, but it would help Buffy to work through it. And it did, even though she was skeptical to start. But then she wrote, and she wrote, and the ache _did_ lessen.

She started keeping those letters in her hatbox. And then, when she met a boy, and her ten-year-old brain thought he would mark her demise, she wrote him a letter, too. Something that would let her work through how she felt about him in the moment, so that once she was done, her feelings would be gone.

Those letters, five in total, were never supposed to be sent out, never supposed to belong to anyone’s eyes but her own. But then one day during her junior year of high school, all of the letters were dropped into the hands of the US postal service, and her world turned on its head again.

Bitterly, she thought, this seemed to be a running theme.

* * *

The easiest way to say it was this—everyone in Buffy’s life was a little bit in love with Walker Brodsky. Buffy loved him before he became Andi’s boyfriend, back when he had just been _Walker_. It felt like he had always been there, a fixture in Buffy’s life as much as anyone else, but that wasn’t entirely true. Walker’s family moved to the neighborhood when Buffy was ten years old and just entering fifth grade. Walker was a whole grade ahead of her and the rest of her friends, in a completely different hallway from her own.

Mr. Driscoll loved Walker because he was a boy—a glorious, muddy-shoed, grass-stained beacon in a sea of girls. It would be wrong to say that he didn’t love spending so much time with his daughter, or that he didn’t love his job as an OB-GYN (because, really, he wouldn’t have gone into the practice if he _didn’t_ love his job), but sometimes, Mr. Driscoll really did just need to spend time with someone who _didn’t_ have two X-chromosomes for a while. So, he loved Walker, because Walker fit that category and wasn’t always running off with Buffy and Andi like Cyrus Goodman was. Plus, Walker could talk about comic books and whatever football game was on like a pro. While Buffy _could_ do those things, too, she couldn’t fault her father for it, either.

Cyrus loved Walker because he didn’t treat him like he was completely different, even though in some ways he was. After Cyrus came out, Walker was one of the only guys from their old friend group that stuck around. Though, this might have been due in part to the fact that Cyrus and Walker were really the _only_ guys left over from their old friend group. But still, Walker stayed. This made Buffy love him just a little bit more.

If she had to say why Andi loved him, it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility to say that she did because he was familiar. Walker was a constant figure in the ever-changing storm of high school, and Andi clung to any piece of normalcy that she could. It helped that he shared her interests and actually _communicated_ , unlike previous boyfriends she’d had, too.

They were all sprawled out in the Driscoll’s living room now, Cyrus and Walker fifteen minutes into a round of Uno, Andi on her phone on the couch, absentmindedly messing with the curls of Walker’s hair because that’s how she showed affection in any crowded room. Buffy was tucked into the opposite corner of the couch. On the armrest beside her sat a plastic bowl of popcorn, fresh popped from the stove, the only way any of them would eat it. Taking a handful and shoving it into her mouth, she talked around the kernels. “We should road trip to D.C. for spring break.”

Andi looks up from her phone, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was just thinking about how we all have our licenses now, so _technically_ we could road trip without our parents. And it’s not like D.C. is all that far away.” Truth be told, Buffy really just didn’t want to spend another spring break at home. Not when nearly all of their classmates would come back from the week off, filled to the brim with stories from wherever they’d vacationed to.

Andi hummed, thoughtful. She turned to Walker, a tilt of her head more than anything. “What do you think? Would your parents let you go?”

“Probably,” he replied, not looking up from his game. “But we’d have to take someone else’s car, because there’s no way mine would make the trip.”

“We could take mine,” Cyrus offered. “I’d just need to let my dad know.”

Andi nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll talk to Pops, see if he could rent a hotel room for us or something.” Then she turned back to her phone. Cyrus caught Buffy’s eye, a look that said, _Like that will ever happen._ She gave him a look in return that said, _Let her dream_.

Andi and Walker got together the summer before freshman year. Buffy heard about it from Walker first, more so due to the fact that he was always over at her house and less so due to the fact that Andi was keeping their relationship a secret. (She wasn’t, Buffy would later learn, but it felt like it at the time.)

Buffy and Walker had been in the Driscoll’s kitchen, Walker working on leftover summer homework before school started in two weeks, Buffy mixing too much powdered lemonade into her glass of ice water before going to sit across from him at the dining table. She couldn’t say exactly when her crush on him had developed, just that it _had_ , and now, sitting less than two feet away from him, her heart stuttered like she just got done running the mile in gym.

He looked up from his English homework and Buffy looked away, pretending that she hadn’t been staring. Always pretending. “So, I think I might need your help with something, but you can’t tell anyone,” he said.

Buffy had replied, “Who would I tell?” even though that answer was obvious.

“Okay, well, I just…,” he paused, clearly trying to sort through his thoughts. “I like someone.”

And for a split second, here and then gone, Buffy thought that maybe he had been talking about her. At least, she _hoped_ he was talking about her. After all, they had spent pretty much the whole summer together—sometimes with Andi and Cyrus, but both of them had been so busy with summer camps and family trips that it usually left Buffy and Walker alone together. So for that one single second, Buffy let herself hope.

But then she caught the way he was looking at her, and it wasn’t at all the way someone who _liked_ you would look at you, probably. She tucked that hope away, letting the more realistic part of her ask, “Who is it?”

It wasn’t like the list of people Walker could like was very long. Just her and Andi, and maybe some girl from his science class that he used to talk about last May. But other than that, Walker really did not hang out with any girls. Unless he liked boys, too. But that list was even shorter.

Walker opened his mouth to reply right as Mr. Driscoll got home from work, a box of carry-out pizza in his arms. And that was the end of the conversation. For a while, anyway.

Not once did Buffy think that the person Walker was talking about really would have been Andi. But then, Andi called her up a week later absolutely _gushing_ over him, and she knew. Really, she should have realized sooner, because when she thought about it, Walker and Andi were essentially two halves of the same coin. They liked the same bands, went to the same art shows, they even had a similar style. Buffy really should have noticed sooner.

She wrote Walker a letter after Andi hung up the phone.

_Dear Walker…_

She did not cry. Not because she didn’t want to, but because by the time she got done listening to Andi be happy, and by the time she got done writing Walker his letter, and by the time she got done getting ready for bed, she just didn’t have the energy to. Because it took a lot of energy, crying, since you had to put yourself right back together after breaking down. So she didn’t. She was there for her friend, and then she wrote her letter, and then she put it all to rest.

It didn’t stop the ache completely. But it dulled the ache enough to get her through the entire messed up situation.

* * *

There were five love letters in total—one for every boy Buffy had ever loved. In a way, those letters were what Buffy had started collecting once she stopped saving everything else.

When Buffy wrote, she wrote it all. She held nothing back, because in the end, those letters became more of a diary than anything else. She wrote like the person the letter was meant for would never read it, because they never would. Every little thought, every daydream, every heartache she’d ever saved up went into those letters. Then when she was done, she put the cap on her pen, tucked the paper into its pre-addressed envelope, and dropped it all into her hatbox, where it would remain.

So, okay, the letters weren’t _exactly_ love letters. They were good-bye letters. Letters that, after Buffy finished writing them, would take all the jumbled up emotions she’d been consumed with and take them all away. Once she was done writing, she was no longer all-consumed, no longer jumbled up. She could go back to making lunch for school in the morning and not get lost wondering if he preferred the crust cut off of his sandwich, too; she could go back to listening to the radio and not feel sick whenever a bubblegum pop love song came on. She could go to bed at night and no longer dream of his hand in her own. Her letters—they were a tidy escape in her very messy world, a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Or at least, they were supposed to be.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! Hope you enjoy :)

School began on a Friday a few days later, something that Buffy was excited for and dreaded all at once. She knew how junior year was the most important year of her high school career, how much colleges focused on it when considering applicants. She had to stay on top of things no matter _what_ ; she had to hit the ground running this year.

Around seven, Buffy put on the new school outfit she laid out last night (at first she had a little trouble finding it in the mess of her room that she _really_ needed to clean), but she found it eventually, folded on her desk chair in a neat little pile. Then she slid her heavy backpack across her shoulders and headed to the kitchen.

Her dad was at the breakfast table, two plates of blueberry pancakes, bowls of cold cereal, and orange juice in front of him and the empty place diagonal to his right. “Hey,” her dad greeted, folding up his morning newspaper and setting it to the side. He gestured to the empty seat next to him. “I made your favorite.”

“Thanks,” Buffy smiled gratefully. It was her father’s personal tradition to make her favorite breakfast on the first day of school, and this year was no exception. She shrugged off her backpack and sat down, picking up her fork and cutting her pancakes into smaller bites. “Are you ready for school?” he asked. He took a sip of orange juice, looking at Buffy as he did so.

She nodded, stabbing her plate of pancakes with her fork with more force than she intended. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. A nervous smile settled on Buffy’s lips, and her dad must’ve noticed it because he gave her a reassuring pat on the hand.

“You’ll be okay,” he promised, giving her a sympathetic smile. “You always are.”

Buffy didn’t know about _always_ , but accepted the sentiment anyway, squeezing her dad’s hand. “If you say so,” she said, giving him a teasing smile as she took another bite of her pancakes.

Things had been strained between Buffy and her dad over the past few years. After her mom died, there was just quiet. It was like that a lot whenever her mom was deployed, too, but it was more of a hopeful quietness. Hopeful that she’d come home. But after she passed away, there was no hope of her coming home, ever. She was just gone, never to come back.

But over the past few years, it had gotten better. The world began to spin again, began to turn right side-up. Now they really felt like a family again, just missing a piece of their puzzle.

Buffy finished the two pancakes on her plate and the bowl of cereal before downing the remains of her orange juice. She looked at the time; it was seven-thirty and school started at eight. “I better get going,” Buffy announced, getting up and slinging her backpack across her shoulders.

Her dad got up, too. “Give your old man a hug before you go,” he smiled, holding his arms out to her. Instantly, Buffy wrapped his arms around his middle, the way she used to when she was a kid. “Your mom would be so proud of you, Buff,” he muttered into her hair. “So proud.”

Buffy fought the tears that sprang to her eyes. Her mom had never cried when she’d been alive, so why should she? “Thanks, Dad,” she said in a choked voice, pulling away from him. She straightened the straps of her backpack before turning around. “I’ll see you later,” she called from behind her, not even daring to look back. If she looked back, she knew she’d cry, and that wasn’t something she could deal with. Not today.

He called out a goodbye before Buffy headed out the door. She looked next door—she could see Walker through the kitchen window, eating breakfast with his parents. She wanted to talk to him, maybe to at least wish him a happy last first day of school, but she knew he was going to leave to pick up Andi soon, so she turned away from his house, got in her car, and started the short drive to school.

All things considered, Buffy was a pretty decent driver. She always used her turn signals, looked both ways before making a turn, and never even glanced at her phone while she was behind the wheel. Today, however, she was only two minutes into the drive to school when she almost hit someone walking in the middle of the road.

She slammed hard on her brakes before she could actually hit the person, gripping the steering wheel for dear life. When she glanced up to see if the person was okay and to tell them, _H_ _ey, could you maybe not do that?_ she realized that this was no stranger, even though they had become something like that over the past few years.

That person was Jonah Beck.

Hesitantly, Buffy drove onto the side of the road and stopped the car next to Jonah, rolling down her window. “Buffy?” he asked confusedly, leaning his arms on the edge of her window. That was the Jonah she remembered, always in a state of confusion.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she said, trying not to sound cross, but it was a lot harder than she realized. “What were you doing walking in the middle of the road like that?”

“Was I in the middle of the road? I guess I lost my train of thought,” he said with a little laugh. Buffy couldn’t help but think _can’t lose something you never had to begin with_ , but didn’t say so out loud. “I was walking to school,” Jonah added after a pause. “I don’t live very far, remember?”

Buffy bit her lip. Of _course_ she remembered; how could she possibly forget? They practically walked home together every single day in middle school, whether from school or practice or...frisbee meets. Buffy pushed away the sudden memory. That was something she didn’t let herself think about, something that she kept hidden away, hidden in the letters. “I remember,” she said. She wanted to ask, _Why_ _isn’t Amber taking you?_ because that was the reason they stopped walking home together, when Amber learned how to drive, but she didn’t. “Do you...want a ride?” she asked, then instantly regretted it. The _last_ thing she wanted to do was start her first day of school off with _Jonah Beck_ , but here she was, offering him a ride.

“Yeah, that’d be great!” he exclaimed in a very Jonah fashion. He opened the passenger side door and buckled in before slamming it shut. “Thanks,” he shot her a smile. “Didn’t want to be late on the first day.”

Buffy laughed sarcastically at that, because if she didn’t leave now, they’d _both_ be late _,_ but Jonah didn’t seem to notice all that much. Typical Jonah.

She began driving again, eyes flickering between the road, the speed gauge, and Jonah. It was weird just _talking_ to him after all this time, let alone _driving_ him to school. Buffy didn’t even remember the last time she’d talked to Jonah.

_Oh_ , wait, yes she did. She momentarily squeezed her eyes shut as the memory fought its way into her mind.

It was the summer before her sophomore year, his junior year. She had just begun working at the Red Rooster; Andi’s dad had gotten her the job a few weeks prior, and she had been walking to work when it happened. She remembered thinking about how lonely it felt walking by herself when someone roamed right into her. She caught herself right before she fell—she didn’t have good reflexes for _nothing_ —when she realized who had bumped into her. Jonah was standing in front of her, a shocked expression on his face. It was strange to see something other than a smile or confusion on him—she used to joke that he only had two facial expressions—but here he was, eyes wide, eyebrows raised, mouth forming a little ‘O.’

Buffy glanced down and saw a bunch of guitar picks scattered on the sidewalk, along with a few albums, and wordlessly, they both stooped down and begin picking up the items. For a brief moment, their fingers brushed together when Buffy was handing him the guitar picks, and she felt herself flinch. She wasn’t supposed to flinch around Jonah anymore— _that’s why she wrote the letter, to get rid of those feelings_ —but she did.

She shook the feeling off before they both stood up. They were both staring at each other in shock a little bit; they’d stopped talking several months before, having fallen out of touch after Jonah sided with Amber in an argument they’d all had. This was the first time they’d been together by themselves since then, clearly something neither of them had expected to happen anytime soon, least of all _today_.

Buffy’s the one to break the silence. “I should go. My shift’s about to start.”

The shocked expression from his face disappeared, replaced by one that resembled...disappointment? No, it couldn’t be. Jonah didn’t miss her; he’d chosen Amber over her, over all of them, and that had been the end of it. Period. “Right,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Buffy stepped around him, her fingers curled around the door handle, when his voice stopped her. “Buffy?” he asked, his voice uncertain.

Buffy let herself look up at him. His face was distorted in what looked like _hurt_. “I’m sorry,” Jonah whispered, and by the way he said it, she could tell he was sorry for more than bumping into her.

She tore her eyes away from him. “Me too,” she said firmly, not even sparing him one last glance before opening the door and walking inside. It was all she could do to stop herself from crying, and there was _no way_ she was going to let Jonah Beck see her cry. Not a chance.

Buffy was snapped out of the memory when she felt a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” Jonah asked abruptly. Her arm felt like it was _burning_.

She noticed she was going a little left of center and corrected herself. “Fine,” she snapped, the words coming out a lot harsher than she’d really meant them to be.

Immediately, Jonah retracted his arm from her. “Sorry. You looked like you were daydreaming or something.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Buffy muttered to herself. It was more like a nightmare. Those memories of Jonah were something she’d tried to forget, but they were always there, lurking in the corners of her mind until they decided to make themselves known. Today, apparently, had been one of those times.

“What was that?” His face was screwed up in confusion. _I saw your oblivious but charming personality, how you didn’t seem to get a clue about anything_ —

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. Buffy tried to pretend it actually _was_ nothing, but she didn’t believe herself, not really.

The rest of the drive was surprisingly quiet, something that was so uncharacteristic of Jonah that it almost made her suspicious. But then she reminded herself that it was probably just awkward since they weren’t really friends anymore—a fact that made her angry, but made the most sense all the same.

Buffy pulled into the student lot, stopping just in front of the school and parking her car. They arrived fifteen minutes before the first bell, which gave her just enough time to organize her locker and catch up with Andi and Cyrus before class. Both her and Jonah exited the car, slamming the doors shut with a satisfying smack before Buffy pulled out her keys and locked the doors.

They began walking towards the school building together, avoiding each other’s eyes and wordless. It wasn’t until they were in front of the double doors that Jonah said, “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem,” Buffy said. That was a lie; it was _every_ problem, but she didn’t say so. She shouldered her backpack before adding, “I guess I’ll see you around then.”

He nodded, a wistful smile forming on his lips. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments—green eyes on brown—before flickering away again. “Yeah. See you around,” he agreed. Buffy spared him a fleeting, pained look before they both went their separate ways.

As Buffy made her way to her locker, trying to wrap her brain around _what just happened_ , Andi ran up to her and stopped her dead in her tracks. “Did you hear?” she asked breathlessly, like she’d done a lap around the school just to find her.

“Hear what?” Buffy questioned. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at her best friend, signalling for her to continue.

“That Jonah and Amber broke up!” she exclaimed.

Buffy felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her. Was that why Jonah had been walking to school this morning? Because he didn’t have a ride anymore? “Seriously? When?” she demanded.

“She cheated on him before the break ended and he broke it off. That’s what I heard, anyway,” Andi explained.

Before Buffy could answer, another person joined their group—a tall boy with dark, styled hair. Cyrus. “Did you hear about—”

“Jonah and Amber?” Buffy cut him off. “That’s what we were just talking about."

Cyrus groaned in disappointment. “Aw, I was hoping I’d get to tell you first.”

Andi shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, Cyrus.”

He ignored her apology, instead saying, “I can’t believe they broke up. Four years they were together!”

“And Amber just threw it all away for some college guy. I mean, it’s not like I’m Jonah’s biggest fan either, but still,” Andi said. She turned around; Buffy followed her gaze to see her looking at Jonah, who was loading his textbooks in his locker. _Please don’t turn around, please don’t turn around,_ she silently pleaded. Andi and Cyrus didn’t know that she gave Jonah a ride this morning, and she wanted to keep it that way.

He didn’t, luckily for Buffy, instead closing his locker and walking to class. “Do you guys ever miss him?” Andi asked abruptly, still glancing at the spot he’d occupied only seconds ago. The question surprised Buffy; she never thought Andi would ever miss Jonah after what happened between them, that was for sure.

“Why, do you miss dating him?” Cyrus teased.

“Of course not!” Andi retorted, wrinkling her nose. Her and Jonah had dated for a few months at the end of seventh grade before Amber had come in and snatched him away. It was part of the reason that they weren’t friends with either of them anymore. “Besides, I’m with Walker now. I just wish we were still friends is all.”

“Same,” Cyrus sighed sadly. “What about you, Buffy? Do you miss him?”

“No,” she said firmly. Even when she said it, she knew it was a lie. There wasn’t a day she didn’t miss Jonah Beck, no matter how much she tried to deny it, how much she wished it wasn’t true. “Not at all.”

Both Cyrus and Andi scrunched their eyebrows together, clearly wanting to ask _why_ she felt that way, but the bell rang before they could. “I’ll see you guys later,” Buffy said, walking away before they could ask her anything else. The last thing she needed right now was more questions to stir up whatever confusing feelings she had for Jonah, letter or not.

* * *

After school, the three of them went straight to The Spoon, though Andi and Cyrus got there a few minutes before Buffy did. She’d had to stay behind and organize her locker since giving Jonah an unexpected ride had considerably shortened her amount of free time.  When she walked inside, they were already sitting down, three glasses of ice cold water on the table and an array of menus between them. As she sat down, she caught a snippet of their conversation. “—don’t even know if he likes me,” Cyrus explained, clearly worrisome.

“I’m sure he does, Cyrus,” Andi responded. “He practically spent as much time with you this summer as we did!”

Buffy didn’t even need to ask to know who they were talking about. “How is my ex-arch-nemesis TJ today? Did he steal candy from crying babies before school?”

Cyrus rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “You guys are friends now, remember? Besides, he was too busy confusing me to do any candy stealing.”

_You’re not the_ only _one who’s confused_ , Buffy thought to herself. “That’s shocking,” she joked, which made Cyrus frown.

“Buffy,” he whined from across the table. “This is _not_ the time for jokes. I’m having a major life crisis right now.”

“Which is…?”

“I really like TJ, but I don’t know if he feels the same way. For all I know, he likes girls,” he mumbled sadly, chin resting in his palm.

“Just ask him,” Buffy suggested, taking a sip of water. Which _sounded_ like the logical solution, but of course, none of them had ever followed through on it, _especially_ Buffy. She just wrote letters to get over the guy she liked; she didn’t even try.

“You _know_ I can’t do that,” he protested. “Besides, it’s not that simple.”

“Nothing ever is with TJ,” Buffy teased.

Cyrus glanced up at her, giving her the stink eye. “Buffy, it truly is a wonder you’re still single.”

She knew it was a joke, but it still hurt a little. She decided to just brush it off. “Isn’t it?”

It’s not that Buffy didn’t want to be in a relationship, it’s just that she didn’t know how to act in one. Or how to even tell a guy that she liked him, sans letter.

Before the conversation could go much further, a waitress came to take their order, but that didn’t stop Buffy from thinking...would she ever get a boyfriend?

The five lonely letters in her hatbox seemed to tell her otherwise.

* * *

After their trip to The Spoon, the three of them went to Buffy’s house. They were up in her room—Cyrus was lounging on her bed, Andi was stretched out on the floor, and Buffy was seated at her desk chair. “Your room is _filthy_ ,” Cyrus observed, pulling a pair of her jeans he’d been lying on out from underneath him. She looked around; clothes were strewn all over the place, the trash can was overflowing with empty water bottles, and stuff was cluttering every surface of furniture.

“I’ll clean it eventually,” Buffy said, waving her hand at him dismissively. Her room always got like this in the summer; between hanging out with Cyrus, Walker, and Andi all day, everyday and warming up for basketball season, she never had time to sit down and clean it. She usually cleaned it before school started so she was in an organized mind-set for the school year, but so far, it hadn’t.

“Mhm,” Cyrus hummed, clearly not believing her. After a moment, he asked, “Don’t you guys think it’s weird we always start school on a Friday?"

“Kind of,” Andi responded. “I like it, though. It gives us more time to be prepared and then we’re not so overwhelmed."

Buffy nodded in agreement. “True. _Plus_ it gives us the opportunity to have sleepovers. Speaking of which, when’s Walker coming over?"

Andi checked her phone. “He’ll be over in a little bit. He had a shift at work and it just ended."

She nodded again. “All right, cool,” she smiled.

These first day of school sleepovers hadn’t _always_ just been the four of them. Jonah and Amber used to come, too. The last one they’d been to was at the start of her eighth grade year, their ninth. It’d been fun besides the obvious tension between Amber and Andi—Jonah was oblivious to it all as usual—and it felt a little like before when they were all just friends without any of the feelings.

Of course, that had been quickly ruined when Amber made Jonah choose between her and them and he’d chosen her. Just the memory of it left a sour taste in Buffy’s mouth.

Suddenly, Buffy heard a light knock on the door—a knock she would recognize anywhere. She spun around in her chair just in time to see Walker opening it from the other side, a smile on his face and a plastic grocery bag swinging from his fingertips. “I brought snacks!” he announced with a grin.

“Yay! What’d you bring?” Cyrus asked excitedly, sitting up on Buffy’s bed.

Walker pulled out a green and yellow bag of candy—Sour Patch Kids. “These are for Cyrus,” he said, tossing the bag at him, which ultimately fell on the floor thanks to Cyrus’s lack of coordinance. “Cheese puffs for Buffy.” He threw the bag at her and she successfully caught it, giving Cyrus a teasing smirk in the process. “And strawberry Toaster Tarts for you,” he mumbled to Andi. There was a soft smile on his face, the one he seemed to reserve only for Andi. The moment wasn’t lost on Buffy; it almost felt like she was intruding on something private, so she busied herself with opening her bag of cheese puffs.

“Why do I do this to myself?” Cyrus groaned after a moment, wiping sour sugar dust off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You get Sour Patch Kids every time, and _every time_ you regret it,” Buffy teased, biting into one of her cheese puffs.

“You’re a masochist, Cyrus,” Walker teased.

The four of them laughed and continued joking around with each other. Sometimes the conversation turned to gossiping about their classmates or arguing about which of their favorite movies was _really_ the best or having passionate discussions about the most random things, but it felt comfortable and safe and so familiar that Buffy couldn’t remember a time before this.

A few hours and several snacks later, Walker got up from the floor and dusted the crumbs off his jeans. “I should get going,” he said with a half-smile on his lips.

“You’re not staying?” Buffy frowned. He usually spent the night; after all, he lived next door, so it wasn’t like her house was too far away.

“I have to work early tomorrow morning and finish up some chores,” Walker explained.

They all shared sad looks. The fact that Walker wasn’t spending the night as usual didn’t _just_ mean he had to work and do chores in the morning; it meant more than that. It meant that they were growing up and that this was the last school sleepover they’d all have together before Walker went to college and they all went their separate ways.

“I’ll walk you out,” Andi said after a moment, getting up from her spot and interlacing their fingers. They shared a small smile before Walker gave them one last wave.

“See you later,” he grinned. As they left the room, Buffy and Cyrus called their goodbyes after them.

As soon as Walker and Andi reached the end of the hallway, Cyrus said, “Don’t you think it’s weird that this is our last school sleepover with all four of us together and Walker’s not even staying for most of it?”

“Way to be a buzzkill,” Buffy joked, throwing a pillow in his direction, but she’d secretly been thinking the same thing. “It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose. I seriously doubt he’d rather go to work than hang out with his best friends.”

“True,” Cyrus said in agreement. “It’s still sad though."

Buffy had to admit he had a point, even if she didn’t like the truth of the statement. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “it is."

Before they could say much else, footsteps sounded down the hallway and Andi’s face appeared in the doorway. “That was quick!” Cyrus commented, eyes wide in surprise.

“I guess that’s what happens when you live next-door to someone,” Andi joked in response, taking her seat on the floor. “Who wants a strawberry Toaster Tart?"

“Me!” Buffy and Cyrus exclaimed simultaneously, then gave each other a teasing glare. And just like that, their previous conversation was forgotten.

* * *

It was around midnight when Buffy was passed out in her bed. The other two members of the Good Hair Crew were still up, which surprised Cyrus to no end; normally, Buffy was always the one to stay up the latest and him and Andi were the ones to fall asleep first, but they had made the stupid decision to drink caffeine right before bed, and here they were, wide awake and tired all at once.

“ _Andi_ ,” Cyrus whined from his spot on the floor. They were currently watching a movie on Andi’s phone, volume on low and subtitles on, of course, so they didn’t wake up Buffy. “My mouth hurts,” he continued to groan.

“It’s not my fault you ate all of your Sour Patch Kids in the span of a few hours,” Andi teased. “You know what happens when you do that."

“Yeah, _this_ happens,” Cyrus gestured to his tongue, as if there was something visibly wrong with it. “Can you get me something to drink? _Anything_ to get the taste out of my mouth.” When Andi didn’t respond, he resorted to tugging on her arm. “ _Please_ ,” he whined again.

“You are so helpless,” she said, but sat up anyway and paused their movie. “You better not play the movie while I’m gone,” she warned.

"I promise I won’t,” Cyrus assured her. “I’m going to look for Buffy’s secret stash of candy."

Andi raised her eyebrows. “The one she swears up and down that she doesn’t have?"

Cyrus nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that one! I _know_ she’s hiding it in here somewhere. Her room is _littered_ in candy wrappers.”

“If you find it, you _better_ share,” she teased. Silently, she tiptoed out of Buffy’s room and down the hallway to the kitchen.

Immediately, Cyrus got up from the floor and surveyed the room with a rigorous glance. Buffy’s laundry was heaped in piles on the floor and trash was scattered across the place; how she managed to find anything in the mess was beyond him.

“Come on, Buffy,” he muttered to himself as he glanced under her bed. It was mostly dust bunnies with the occasional missing shoe and article of clothing. “Where did you hide that sweet, sweet candy?”

He stood up clumsily and looked around the space again. _If I were Buffy, where would I hide something I wanted to keep away from my nosy friends?_ he thought to himself. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on her closet. _Her closet, of course!_ It was the neatest place in the entire room; it’d be the last place Cyrus would think to look and the first place Buffy would hide something. Things were so much better hidden in plain sight.

Quietly, he tiptoed to Buffy’s closet and yanked on the handle. Inside, her clothes were organized on hangers and boxes of old things of hers were stacked in the corner. Nothing in particular caught his eye—at least, not until he looked up. On the very top shelf sat a round box of some sort—the perfect size for hiding something like a secret stash of candy that may or may not exist! Hastily, Cyrus reached up and pulled the hatbox down from the shelf, kneeling down next to Buffy’s bed to get a better look.

Now that he could see it completely, he realized it was a purple hatbox with a large bow plastered in the center. He frowned; as much time as he spent in Buffy’s room, he’d never seen the likes of this before.

He flipped up the lid and glanced inside, hoping that he’d finally found what he’d been looking for. But when he looked at the contents, he realized there wasn’t candy inside, but letters, five to be exact.

_Boring!_ Cyrus thought, going to close the lid, when something caught his eye. It was a name—one he’d grown all too familiar with over the past five or so years. _Walker Brodsky_ was on the center of the envelope, written in Buffy’s oh-so-careful cursive.

Before he could investigate more, Andi came back from the kitchen with two water bottles in each hand. “Find anything?” she asked, standing in the doorway.

Startled, Cyrus clumsily shut the lid and shoved it under the edge of the bed. “Nope, nothing interesting!” he exclaimed.

Andi frowned momentarily before saying, “You still want this?” She waved one of the water bottles in the air.

“Yes!” Cyrus said a little louder than he meant to. Immediately, he clapped his hand over his mouth—if he woke Buffy up, he’d _never_ hear the end of it—but she didn’t move an inch. “Yes,” he repeated quieter this time, getting up from the floor and taking the bottle from Andi.

“Ready to start our movie back up?” Andi questioned. They settled back in their previous spot, legs crossed and water bottles opened. “I heard this is the best part!”

“Let’s watch it then,” Cyrus said, trying to fake enthusiasm, but it was no use. His mind was stuck on the letters he’d found—specifically, the one that had Walker’s, _Andi’s boyfriend’s_ , name on it.

Luckily for him, Andi didn’t seem to notice, instead pressing play on their movie and watching the screen intently. Cyrus tried to do the same, but his mind was somewhere else—in the hatbox under Buffy’s bed, to be exact.

He knew that no matter what, he had to stay up and read those letters, even if it took him all night.

* * *

Fortunately for Cyrus, it didn’t take all night, but only an hour before Andi was crashed out on the floor. Silently, he paused their movie (it only had a few minutes left on it, anyway), covered Andi in a blanket, and gently put a pillow under her head before creeping over to Buffy’s bed. He quietly pulled the hatbox out from under her bed, the soft velvet caressing his fingers as he did so.

He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for whatever he might find, before opening the box. The letters were tied together with a single string, all in brown envelopes and addressed in Buffy’s cursive. With a gulp, Cyrus took the first letter out of the neat little stack and flicked open the flap of the envelope.

When he pulled out the letter, he noticed it was written on Buffy’s special stationery—the fancy writing paper her mom had given her before she’d died. He only knew that because he’d seen her use it one other time when she was writing a letter to her favorite teacher from eighth grade—she’d told him not only that it was a gift from her mom, but that she only used it for important things.

Slowly, Cyrus carefully unfolded the creased paper. A part of him told him to stop, that this was a _major_ invasion of Buffy’s privacy and that she’d kill him if she ever found out—but a bigger part of him filled with curiosity and a need to meddle in his friends’ lives took over. Pushing down the immediate guilt he felt, he began to read:

_Dear Walker,_

_Oh, why did it have to be you? Why did I have to fall in love with your laugh and your hair and the way you listen to everyone, even when they don’t have anything important to say? Why did it have to be you, of all the people I could’ve fallen in love with?_

_I just got off the phone with Andi.  She was talking about how amazing and adorable and kind you are, the way I’ve found myself thinking every time I’m with you. That’s how I knew, how I knew she was every bit in love with you as I am._

_Don’t get me wrong, Walker. I am happy for you and Andi. I’m so happy that out of all the guys she fell in love with, it was you, because I knew you wouldn’t break her heart. I can’t say the same for mine._

_I can’t exactly say when I fell in love with you. I guess it was the day we met, even though I was ten or so at the time and wouldn’t even begin to realize what that feeling was for a few more years. Andi, Cyrus, and I were playing in my front yard and eating ice cream cones and you were in your own yard. I remember Cyrus dropped his and he was so upset I thought he was going to cry, but then you went into your house and came back with a vanilla ice cream cone for him so he still had one. And just like that, you became a part of our small group, and I fell a little in love with you every day since._

_Even still, I’m happy that you and Andi are together. You both really do make the perfect couple. I can’t say I’ll miss thinking of you this way; even before you started dating Andi, I knew you’d never like me back, that we’d never work out. I never even really considered that you could have feelings for me, too, which is probably for the best, since it’s Andi you like and not me._

_At least I still have our friendship. Which sounds cliché now that I think about it, but it’s true. I’m glad I can be what we always have been: the best of friends. Just that is enough for me, and it always has been._

_Love, Buffy_

Cyrus dropped the letter down on the hardwood floor. Buffy had a _crush_. On Walker. For literal _years._ Suddenly, he felt _dirty_ knowing that private piece of information; this was something that Buffy had _clearly_ wanted to keep hidden, something that was _extremely_ personal, and he had invaded that privacy.

Guilt momentarily set in until Cyrus glanced down and saw the other four letters, and almost on auto-pilot, he picked up the next envelope, this one with Marty’s name on it. _I’m doing this for Buffy_ , he reminded himself as he pulled the contents out.

Cyrus then read Marty’s letter, which, all in all, didn’t supply him with much information he didn’t already know. It was so obvious they’d liked each other in the way they always interacted—teasing and carefree and comfortable. At least, until they’d had their falling out, anyway.

The next letter was completely unexpected—one that he had to double-check to see if he’d read the name wrong. Jonah Beck was written on the envelope, the last name he’d ever expect Buffy to speak out loud again, much less write a love letter to. His eyes ran over the words carefully, absorbing every word— _every personal thought that he shouldn’t be reading,_ he chastised. He knew he shouldn’t be reading the letters, but then he found himself picking up the fourth and the fifth ones because he’d already made it this far, and then he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by brown envelopes with the flaps sticking open and the letters scattered all over the floor.  

_What have I done_? he thought, the voice in his head full of the same panic he felt in his chest. Quickly, he took all the letters and put them back in the appropriate envelopes. He tried putting them back the way he’d found them, but he suddenly couldn’t remember the order they’d been in. Had Marty’s come first or Jonah’s? He shouldn’t have read these and Buffy’s going to find out and be so angry—

But a part of him wondered, sitting there with all five letters in his hand, what would happen if the letters were sent out? His first immediate thought was how much of a betrayal it would be to Buffy, but then he realized, here he was with five letters in his hand to five boys that Buffy liked and none of them knew how she felt. What if this was how Buffy finally got a boyfriend, how she _finally_ got her happy ending?

Cyrus reminded himself of how very flawed his logic was and how it was two in the morning so this was probably a _very bad idea that he’d almost positively regret later_ , but that didn’t stop him from putting the letters back in the hatbox and shoving it in his backpack. _This could be the best thing to ever happen to Buffy_ , he reminded himself as he felt another stab of guilt. But after a while of repeating that reminder to himself, the guilt lessened, even if only for a little bit.

* * *

The guilt didn’t completely set in until the next morning when he was leaving Buffy’s house. He was standing outside her mailbox, letters in hand. In the end, he’d only decided to send out four—there was no way he could send out Walker’s letter without causing major drama between Andi _and_ Buffy, and besides, he wasn’t a _completely_ horrible friend.

Slowly, Cyrus opened the mailbox, staring into the dark, empty void inside. “Last chance,” he muttered to himself. This was it; if he didn’t back out now, he could either potentially ruin or make Buffy’s life.

Before he could second-guess himself, Cyrus shoved the four letters in the mailbox and slammed it shut, getting in his car and starting the drive home. As he started down Buffy’s street, he couldn’t help but wonder what to do about Walker’s letter—it was still in his backpack with the hatbox considering it was too late to put it back in Buffy’s closet, and besides, only taking four of the five letters would only raise more suspicion.

For now, he decided to keep it in his bookbag, where it would _hopefully_ remain hidden. There was no way he could let that letter get out, even if it was the last thing he did.

But little did Cyrus know how much turmoil the other four letters would cause in the coming days.


	3. Chapter 3

During the summer, working at Red Rooster was a busy affair. Teenagers and college students home for the sunny months created a steady stream of business that left Buffy always putting in orders for obscure records and receipt tape. But with the start of school, business had died down due to the prime source of revenue being tied up for most of the day with classes, and then after-school activities.

Thursday evenings in particular were quiet, this shift even more so. The high schools around town had been on half days for the past week due to teacher training workshops and seminars the students didn’t care enough to learn more about. This meant that for the most part, everyone was left in a haze, not quite used to being back to school but also not used to the formlessness of summer anymore. 

Buffy sat behind the counter, sneakily reading from a paperback novel she had bought at the thrift store earlier that week, some trashy romance set in the Wild West during the age of cowboys and gold mines. She kept the book tucked just underneath the lip of the counter so that if anyone _did_ end up stopping by, she could easily drop it without the person seeing the book cover. Which is to say, Buffy had a reputation to maintain, and having people find out that she was secretly a hopeless romantic did _not_ fit into that reputation.

She was a mere four chapters in before she heard the bell above the door ring, signaling that a customer had wandered in. Swiftly, she folded over the corner of the page she was on and tucked the book away on the shelf beneath the counter. 

“Hi, can I—” Buffy stopped mid-greeting once her eyes landed on the person who walked in. After the events of the previous Friday, it _would_ be just her luck that Jonah Beck would walk into her work while she was on shift. Of course. Jonah lifted his hand in an absentminded greeting, and something in Buffy’s heart ached despite herself. She frowned, trying her best to ignore his presence until he asked for help. _Please_ , she thought, _do not need any help_.

She sat back down on the stool behind the counter, picking up her book. It was so obvious that Jonah had something to say to her, but he wouldn’t just come out and say it. So she took her attention away, noting the fact that _he_ was ignoring her so hard it probably hurt.

But try as she might, her attention kept straying away from _The Man From Stone Creek_. Though she would be loathed to admit it, Buffy couldn’t keep from glancing back up at Jonah. He was on the other side of the small store, thumbing through a collection of old rock albums while very obviously trying to look like he didn’t feel out of place. Finally, Buffy rolled her eyes, put her book away, and called out, “Can I help you?” It didn’t sound nearly as friendly as it was supposed to, but at the moment, she could hardly be bothered to care.

Jonah looked up quickly, as if her voice startled him. For all she knew, it probably did. “Oh,” he said, fidgeting, always fidgeting, “I—yes, actually. Yeah.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to ask about some obscure album. He didn’t, but rather tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and walked over to the counter. Buffy leaned away, just the smallest bit, to put some distance between them again. Something about the whole exchange didn’t feel right.

“So, I, um…,” Jonah stumbled over his words, and even though Buffy knew on some fundamental level that he was trying to sort through his thoughts, all it did was make her irritated. “I got your letter.”

She narrowed her eyes, and if looks could kill, Jonah would have been a goner. “What? Jonah, I’ve never written you a letter. I mean, who _does_ that anymore?” Except that she _had_ written him a letter, nearly four years ago. But, there was no way he could be talking about _that_ letter…right?

Jonah frowned, and it was such a foreign expression on his face that it set the whole room on edge. “I mean, you did. You, like, _totally_ did. Come on, Buffy, you don’t have to lie about it.”

“I’m _not_.” Her voice was a knife, completely intent on hurting him into silence. “Believe me, Jonah Beck, I am not a liar.” She didn’t say, _I_ _f you had stuck around after eighth grade, you would know that,_ even though she wanted to. She also didn’t say, _W_ _hoever wrote you that letter and put my name on it is a schmuck_ , even though she _really_ wanted to. She did, however, cross her arms over her chest and stare at him until he looked away

“Okay, fine, be that way. All I wanted to say is that I’m flattered, really, I am. I think it’s nice that you think I have ocean eyes, and that I light up a room. And I do remember those grape popsicles we used to share. But I seriously _just_ got out of a bad relationship and I’m not really looking to start anything with anyone.” Jonah was looking everywhere _but_ at Buffy now, but she was too busy combing through her mind to notice. _Where_ had she heard those words before? They were so familiar, sitting so close but just out of her reach.

“Jonah,” she said, slowly like it hurt, “What are you talking about?”

“You wrote this, right?” He reached into his pocket then, drawing out a crumpled, pale brown envelope. He set it down on the counter between them, smoothing it down out of habit. Buffy looked at it, and her heart stopped. _Oh my God_ , she thought, _that’s my letter_. Her throat and chest felt tight, the way they did just before she started crying. She curled her hands into fists, her nails digging crescent moons into her palms.

“No,” she denied, a knee-jerk reaction. She closed her eyes, eyebrows drawn close together, because even as she said the word, she regretted opening her mouth. After all, her handwriting was on the envelope. Her _home address_ was on the envelope. _How did this get out?_ “Okay, yes, but it was a _really_ long time ago.” She didn’t add,  _A_ _lso, you were never supposed to see that, ever,_ but it felt like it was implied.

“It looks pretty new,” Jonah said, voice drowning in confusion, “and the processing date was Wednesday.”

Buffy felt sick to her stomach. _God, this can’t be happening_. “Well, it’s not,” she snapped, hoping her voice sounded colder to him than it did in her own ears. “And if you had really read it, you would know that. Besides, Jonah, it doesn’t even matter. I don’t like you _now_ and that’s all that’s relevant.”

The longer she rambled, the more confused Jonah got. Which, admittedly, helped soothe the situation a little, because at least that much was normal. Buffy reached out then, snagging the letter off the counter. “I’m taking this back,” she said, a useless fact Jonah could already see. “So just forget all about it, okay? It was a fluke.” Jonah was just about to answer when the bell above the door rang again. 

Buffy looked around him, and when she saw that it was Walker, to-go bag from The Spoon in hand, her mind raced. If Jonah had somehow received his letter, what if…what if Walker got his letter, too? What if _all_ of the letters got sent out? _Oh God, oh no, this is bad._ Before she could think it all through, before she could stop herself, Buffy grabbed the collar of Jonah’s shirt with both of her hands and pulled him towards herself, crashing their mouths together.

Her heart stuttered, crashed, stopped. 

Jonah kissed her back. 

Or, at least, Buffy thought he did. She was pulling away too fast for anything to truly register. Jonah stood there, mouth slack, eyes so visibly stunned. Walker, behind him, looked confused.

Buffy forced a smile, reaching up to twirl one of her curls around her finger, “So, I’ll see you after work, okay?” It’s the first thing that came to mind, sickening and sugar-sweet.

Jonah, still dazed, nodded. And nodded. And nodded. For a moment, Buffy wondered if she broke him. If just one kiss from her was enough to ruin Jonah Beck completely. But then again, was there ever really a stable Jonah Beck to begin with?

Softly, voice a whisper of a thought, he replied, “Oh, okay.” And then he turned on his heels, and walked right out of the shop without a second glance. Buffy crumpled the letter in her fist, throwing it underneath the counter with her forgotten romance novel. It felt like time froze after Jonah left. Buffy’s heart was still racing, pulse just beneath her skin, but she hadn’t said anything, and Walker hadn’t said anything, and the room felt too small.

But then Walker was moving towards the counter, setting a grease-stained to-go bag down, and Buffy snapped out of it. 

“Hey,” he said, like he didn’t just witness Buffy’s world crumbling around her. “Was that Jonah Beck?” That was an obvious question, with an obvious answer, but Buffy still couldn’t get her mind to work long enough to come up with an adequate excuse.

She opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it. “Well,” she started, stopped. _God._  The whole day was a disaster. “Yes.” She couldn’t think of a lie good enough to stop any other questions, _curse_ the fact that she was a terrible liar. _Whatever,_  she thought, _maybe the truth works, too_.

Walker nodded, like it was normal for her to be kissing Jonah Beck in Red Rooster. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, good for you I guess.”

And what was _that_ supposed to mean? Buffy didn’t get a chance to ask because Walker was pushing the to-go bag towards her, rambling on about how Andi wanted to bring Buffy lunch herself but she ran out of time and so he offered to bring it and…Buffy zoned out.  

She was vaguely aware of heading to the back room to eat the lukewarm baby taters Walker had brought her, and she was vaguely aware of him following after her like he usually did. She was vaguely aware that they sat shoulder-to-shoulder, and that he was talking, but she couldn’t tell what he was talking about. Was he even actually talking to her? Did it matter? The world fogged over, and all Buffy could concentrate on was this—someone had sent her love letters out. 

This was to say, every boy she had ever loved was going to know she’d loved them.

This was to say, Buffy felt awfully, royally, screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Buffy did when she got off work was speed home, running a handful of stop signs that surely would have disappointed her father if he found out about it. But she _really_ needed to get back to her house.

It took too long to find her house key, and then even longer to fit the key into the lock, and the entire time, there was a pit in her stomach that kept growing, black and anxious and _consuming_. The door fell open, and she tumbled along with it, tripping over her own feet. She pulled off her shoes, dropped her backpack on the floor, and hurried to her bedroom.

It was still a disaster from the summer. School had already been in session for nearly a week, and she still hadn’t had time to completely clean it up. The Friday before, she hadn’t had to worry about it, because her dad had been working long hours all week and hadn’t had time to chastise her for the mess. But now, _now_ she wished she had cleaned it, because she couldn’t find the hatbox her mom gave her anywhere, which meant she couldn’t find her letters, which meant her world was _ending_.

Well, maybe not ending-ending, but it sure felt like it was. Kneeling down by her bed, Buffy pulled piles of clutter from beneath it. Missing pairs of shoes she had kicked under the bed and wrinkled shirts and random socks, but no hatbox.

She jumped up to the floor, and in the midst of her panic, remembered that she hadn’t taken her hatbox out in _weeks_. So by default, it should still be on the very top shelf of her closet, right? Immediately, she ran to her closet doors and swung them open forcefully. But when she ran her hand across the top of the shelf, she felt nothing but empty space and dust.

Her closet was empty. Completely, utterly, wholly empty.

Her stomach dropped.

Her heart dropped.

Her world felt like it was spinning off its axis.

_How did they get out?_

After a few moments of constricting, overwhelming panic, she got up and ran into the kitchen. Her dad was standing at the sink, washing dishes. “Hey, Buff, how was work?” he asked, looking at her while washing a soapy plate.

She shook her head, ignoring the question in favor of the blinding hot panic in her chest. “Did you take my hatbox?” she questioned.

“Your what?” he frowned.

She tried not to let her frustration about this whole situation show, but it was downright impossible at a time like this. “My hatbox,” she repeated. “It’s purple and velvet, has a big bow on it? Mom gave it to me.”

Immediately, her dad furrowed his eyebrows. “No, I didn’t touch it. You really think I walked through that pigsty of yours to steal a box?” he teased, but Buffy didn’t laugh. _If he didn’t take the letters, who did?_ “Why do you ask?”

“There was something _very important_ in it and now it’s gone,” she explained, her voice so rushed with urgency that her words were beginning to run together. “Are you _sure_ you didn’t take my box?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” he frowned. “What was in there that was so important, anyway?”

She froze. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, which _completely_ contradicted what she’d said two seconds ago, but at this point, she was too worried about her letters to care. “I’m going to look in my room. Maybe I just misplaced it,” she lied. She didn’t even bother to listen for a response before running back to her room and slamming the door shut, sliding her back against it. _My letters are out, my letters are out, how did my letters get out?_

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them back. Buffy did _not_ cry, and _certainly_ not over some letters she’d written to a couple boys a few years ago.

After a few minutes, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of her pocket—Jonah’s letter. She’d grabbed it right before she left work; there was no way she was going to let someone _else_ find her letter—it was embarrassing enough that Jonah read it. Slowly, she smoothed out the wrinkles in the envelope and shakily pulled out the crinkled stationery the letter was written on.

_Dear Jonah Beck,_

_Part of me still can’t believe I’m writing this letter to Jonah Beck of all people, and I don’t mean that as a compliment. I mean, who says ‘docious magocious’ unironically and plays Ultimate Frisbee and is the captain of the Ultimate Frisbee team? And what kind of name is ‘Space Otters?’ I just don’t get it. You are an enigma, Jonah Beck. An infuriating, oblivious, adorable enigma._

_It’s really your own fault that I’m writing this letter to you. I wouldn’t be if you hadn’t kissed me that night we were walking home together at the beginning of my seventh grade year. It was after one of your many, many frisbee games; Andi, Amber, Walker, and Cyrus dragged me to it, even though I told them I’d rather play basketball in my front yard. I was sitting on the bleachers while they were cheering you on, even though nobody does that at frisbee meets. I remember when you came over and talked to us and asked me why I looked so bored and I told you it’s because I was. But that wasn’t the whole truth. Because even though I was bored, I was still watching to see if you’d win, hoping you would, even though it seemed like I wasn’t._

_And then you kissed me when we were walking home, for absolutely no reason at all. We both knew you didn’t like me, that you liked Andi or Amber (I could never tell which one it actually was), but you did it anyway. And part of me hates you for that, I guess. Because that kiss made me love you, Jonah, and you don’t even realize it._

_Before that kiss, I didn’t see you as anything but a friend. You were just Jonah, the person I would share grape popsicles with at lunch because no one else liked them, the person I always walked home with because it was better than walking alone. I didn’t fall for your charms the way all the other girls did, or do, I should say. But after you kissed me, I saw you the way they saw you, as Jonah Beck. I saw your charming, radiant, worthy-of-outshining-the-sun smile. I saw your beautiful eyes; up close, your eyes aren’t so much green eyes as ocean eyes. Not because they’re more blue than green, but because you get lost in them. I saw the way you seemed to light up a room just with your presence, like it was dark before and then someone turned on a lightbulb and that lightbulb was you. I saw your oblivious but charming personality, how you didn’t seem to get a clue about anything, but it was okay because you were Jonah Beck . I saw how perfect you were, even though you said ‘docious magocious’ and played on the Ultimate Frisbee team and named it  ‘Space Otters.’ I hate you for all these things, too, because they made me love you more._

_But now you’re with Andi, which is fine. It just means that I can’t see you that way anymore, and maybe that’s for the best. Because maybe seeing you the way the others did wasn’t seeing you the way you really are. Maybe I was just seeing you the way I wanted to see you after that kiss, because I wanted it to be more than it really was, whatever it was. I don’t know. All I know is that I wish you could be just Jonah again._

_Love, Buffy_

Buffy threw the letter down in embarrassment. It was _so_ much worse than she remembered. Suddenly, the thought of Jonah reading this letter, this letter filled with every personal, romantic thought she’d ever had about him, surfaced, and she immediately recoiled.

_How was she going to face him tomorrow?_

_How was she going to face any of them tomorrow?_

For someone who was normally so sure of herself, Buffy had no clue what to do about the situation at hand.

* * *

The next morning, Buffy awoke with a bundle of anxiety and terror in her chest. She took her time in getting ready for the day in hopes of avoiding her dad before she left for school. He was always able to tell when something was bothering her, and talking about her feelings was _not_ something she wanted to get into with her dad—or anyone, ever, for that matter.

At around half-past seven, Buffy trudged into the kitchen. A folded newspaper was on the table, along with an empty coffee mug—a good sign that her dad wasn’t home. She looked on the refrigerator and found a sticky note: _On call early today. Won’t be getting home until six. Feel free to order a pizza for dinner. Knock ‘em dead today. -Dad._  For a moment, she felt guilty for hoping he wouldn’t be home, but it passed soon enough as she went to pour herself a cup of coffee and realized he hadn’t left her any. Typical Dad.

She made an ordeal of pouring herself a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles, slowing soaking the cereal in milk as she dreaded the day ahead of her. She didn’t like the uncertainty that her letters being sent out caused; she _especially_ hated how unpredictable today felt. Would Jonah confront her about the kiss? That one was mostly a given, but then again, Jonah Beck didn’t _do_ confrontation well. What happened yesterday at Red Rooster only proved that. Would she have to deal with the recipients of the other letters? Marty had moved to California to live with his dad in eighth grade, but did his letter somehow get forwarded to his current address? And she’d written a letter to Jefferson from basketball camp in sixth grade, but that had been addressed to the camp; would the camp have somehow gotten the letter to him?

The letter she was most worried about was Walker’s. If his letter somehow got out with Jonah’s...no. She couldn’t think about that right now. The thought of _Jonah_ having read her letter already made her stomach twist sickeningly. But if Walker received his letter, all hell would break loose. His letter getting out would probably involve losing either Andi or Walker or possibly both, maybe even Cyrus in a worst-case scenario.

Buffy shook her head as if to rid herself of the thoughts. It wouldn’t do her any good to think about all the negatives. _Maybe it was a fluke_ , she thought. _Maybe only Jonah’s got out and the rest got lost in the mail. Or whoever sent them out only sent out the one_.

She knew it was unlikely, but it made the day a little more bearable, if only slightly.

Buffy sat down at the table and took measly bites of cereal. She didn’t have much of an appetite, but she forced herself to eat a few spoonfuls so she wasn’t starving in the middle of third period. It was too late to eat much more, anyway; it was now a soggy, soupy mess, so she pitched it in the trash, grabbed her backpack, and made the short drive to school.

It was five minutes until the bell when she arrived at school, just like she’d intended. She’d been hoping to have plenty of time to grab her textbooks and to get to class, but not so much that she’d be able to hold a conversation with Jonah or any other letter recipients.

Luckily for her, no such thing happened, and she got to class without interruptions of any sort, except for a kid walking on the wrong side of the hallway shoulder-checking her, which didn’t deter her in the slightest.

First and second period were a breeze; at first, it took a few minutes to stop feeling so paranoid about the letters, but once she focused on the work in front of her, it was easier. Her anxiety about the day didn’t really lessen, but distractions helped her not to focus on it so much.

It was in third period when she began to hope that _maybe_ this day wouldn’t be as horrible as she imagined when a knock sounded on the door. Immediately, Buffy glanced up to see Jonah standing in the doorway, a bright smile on his face as he looked at her chemistry teacher, and her heart dropped in the pit of her stomach. “Hey, Mr. Porter, can I borrow Buffy for a second? The principal needs to see her. Apparently, there was a mix-up with her schedule,” Jonah explained, that radiant smile on his face. It was so bright that Buffy wondered if she’d need sunglasses to look at it directly.

Her teacher grumbled in annoyance. “Very well. Buffy, you’ll have to catch up on what you missed Monday.”

“Yes, Mr. Porter,” she muttered under her breath before getting up from her seat and walking towards the door. She hoped the horror she felt didn’t show on her face, but she doubted Jonah would notice anyway. She closed the door behind them as they stepped into the hallway.

There was an awkward silence between them for a few seconds, one where they both looked at anywhere but each other and tried to think of _something_ to say. As they stood there, the memory of Buffy grabbing Jonah by the collar and kissing him weaseled its way into her mind, and she felt a burning in her cheeks. Finally, she said, “So, what’s so wrong with my schedule that the principal needed to see me about it?” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt, but again, with Jonah, it’s not like it would make much of a difference either way.

“What?” he asked, his face pinching in confusion before ultimately relaxing again. “Oh, right, about that...I kind of made it up.”

Now _Buffy_ was the one feeling confused, and also a little irritated. “Why did you do that?” she frowned, placing her hands on her hips.

“I needed an excuse to talk to you about the letter,” he explained nervously before adding, “and you, uh, kissing me and stuff.”

The blushing she felt before was nothing compared to now. “I told you, I wrote that letter a long time ago, like, at the end of seventh grade. And it’s not like I have feelings for you now.”

Jonah frowned. “You don’t?”

_Why_ was that even a question? She’d already told him all of this at the store yesterday, but he seemed to be as forgetful as he was clueless. “No, I don’t,” she said firmly. There was brief pause before she added, “So, I’m going to get back to class now, if you don’t mind.”

He didn’t say anything as she turned on her heel and started for the door. It wasn’t until her hand was on the door handle that he finally asked, “Then why did you kiss me?”

She turned back around. That frown of his lingered and one of his hands was sticking in the front of his jeans pocket. “I can’t tell you that,” she said, attempting to keep her voice even, but it only came out as frustrated.

His frown deepened. So much for only having two facial expressions. “I think I deserve to know.”

She had to agree with him there, but didn’t voice those thoughts, instead saying, “It’s just...if I told you and it got out, it could potentially ruin my friendship with someone.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Jonah promised. “Come on, you know me!”

She _did_ know Jonah, or used to, anyway, however much she wished she didn’t. And one thing she remembered about Jonah was the fact that he was a _huge_ blabbermouth. If you wanted him to keep quiet about something, you had to tell him not to blab in very specific terms. Then again, it wasn’t like it mattered all that much anyway. For all she knew, Walker had already read his letter and was planning to confront her at lunch. Still, she had to take the necessary precautions in case this whole situation really had somehow been a fluke. “All right, fine,” she hesitantly agreed. “But you have to _swear_ that you’ll never tell anyone about this, _ever_.”

“Sheesh, what’s with the third degree?” Jonah asked jokingly, but he must’ve noticed the stern expression on Buffy’s face, because he quickly sobered up. “I swear that I won’t tell anyone whatever you’re about to tell me.” He had one hand over his heart and the other up in the air in a swearing sort of way, a sort of seriousness to his voice that made Buffy want to smile.

She didn’t, though, biting her lip to stop even the hint of one from forming on her lips. “Good enough,” she sighed, straightening the story all in her head. “So, basically...you aren’t the _only_ boy I wrote a letter to.”

He frowned again. Maybe she’d have to change that old joke from two facial expressions to three. “What do you mean? How many other letters were there?”

“Five,” she answered, watching his face shift from confusion to surprise. “There’s one for each boy I’ve ever lov—liked. But I never meant for any of them to get sent out. They were just...they were just for me,” she admitted. Suddenly, her voice sounded a lot quieter, which wasn’t _that_ surprising since they were in a vacant hallway. “It was my way of getting rid of those feelings so I didn’t have to deal with them anymore.” Jonah nodded, seeming to understand. “But one of the letters I wrote...well, it was for Walker.”

“Walker?” Jonah exclaimed. His voice echoed through the hallway, causing Buffy to clap a hand over his mouth.

“Don’t be so loud! You swore to keep quiet, remember?” she scolded. He nodded, an apology written on his face, so she removed her hand.

“Sorry,” he said quieter. “I just...haven’t Walker and Andi been dating? For a long time now?”

“Yes,” Buffy admitted, “but I wrote that letter right when they got together. It’s just...if either of them still think I have feelings for him, it could cause _huge_ problems.”

“And you don’t like him anymore, right?” Jonah questioned, ploring at her with those green eyes of his.

She shook her head. “No, but that’s not the point. Andi and Walker won’t think that when he reads that letter, no matter how long ago I wrote it.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with you kissing me,” Jonah admitted.

Buffy tried not to roll her eyes. “I was getting there,” she said. She took a deep breath before adding, “I don’t know _how_ , but somehow my letters got sent out. Or at least, yours did. And when you came to talk to me about _your_ letter, Walker came in, and I thought…”

“Maybe he got his, too,” Jonah finished for her.

She nodded. “Yeah. Then I panicked and kissed you so he wouldn’t think I still liked him.”

“Oh,” he said, whether in surprise or anger or disappointment, Buffy didn’t know. “This kind of works out perfect, actually.”

Buffy frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, that’s kind of why I called you out here,” Jonah admitted. He seemed nervous now, hand scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Amber’s been trying to get back together with me ever since I broke up with her over the summer.” He seemed to lower his voice as he said, “I don’t know if you know this, but she cheated on me.”

Buffy resisted the urge to snort. “I think _everybody_ knows that.”

“Really?” The genuine shock on his face astounded Buffy. It only highlighted how oblivious he was to everything around him.

“ _Yes_. That’s all anyone’s been talking about for the past week. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it to me when I gave you a ride last week,” she rolled her eyes.

“It didn’t come up,” Jonah protested, which, even though he had a point, it still annoyed her.

“ _Anyway_ , you were saying?” Buffy asked in annoyance.

Jonah shook his head to himself. “Right. So I was thinking…,” he trailed off uncertainly.

“Spit it out!” she exclaimed.

“Okay, fine! I was thinking that you and I could pretend to be a couple,” Jonah blurted out. For a moment, Buffy wondered if she’d heard him wrong, but telling by the sheepish look on his face, she knew she hadn’t.

“You want us to _what_ now?” Buffy asked in disbelief.

“You know, fake date. Like we’d pretend to be together but not—”

“I know what it means,” she cut him off impatiently. “ _Why_ do you want us to fake date?”

Jonah let out a sigh. “If we pretended to date, then Amber would get that, you know, it’s over between us.” He paused before adding, “I’ve moved on and I want her to get that she should, too.”

“So, you want to use me to get your ex-girlfriend to leave you alone?” Buffy questioned. She tried to keep the aggravation out of her voice, but it was more difficult than she realized.

“You kind of used me, too, when you kissed me,” he pointed out. “Isn’t this just calling it even?” She had to admit Jonah _did_ have a point. “If we pretend to be a couple, you can solve your problem and I can solve mine.”

“How would this be solving my problem?” Buffy asked in confusion.

“Think about it. If you pretend to date me, then Walker _definitely_ won’t think you like him anymore. Besides, he probably already thinks we’re together, anyway. And I’m sure you let him think that after you kissed me, right?”

Buffy gave him a grudging nod. “Right,” she admitted. Dating Jonah really _would_ fix her problem with Walker. Besides, it wasn’t like it would be forever or anything. “Fine,” she agreed after a moment. “I’ll do it.

“You will?” Jonah asked in surprise. “Dosh!”

Almost automatically, she wrinkled her nose. “On one condition. _Don’t_ say ‘dosh’ or ‘docious magocious’ anymore. I’m begging you.”

His face fell, and she almost felt bad. _Almost._ “Fine, deal,” he sighed.

Before Buffy could respond, the bell rang, and his face bounced back into its permanent smile. “So, I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” Jonah asked, that stunning smile on his face. For a moment, she wondered why there was a sudden change in his behavior. Then the hallway flooded with students and she realized he was pretending.

She plastered a smile on her face, even though she felt like doing the opposite. “Yeah, see you later,” she said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. It was the only thing she really knew about flirting besides bantering and teasing.

Just as she was going to step back in the chemistry room and grab her stuff, Jonah grabbed her by the waist and leaned down to kiss her. It only lasted a few seconds before he was pulling away again. “Bye,” he smiled, walking away and disappearing in the swarm of students, but Buffy kept her feet planted to the ground.

For the third time in her life, she had kissed Jonah Beck. And for the third time, the kiss meant absolutely nothing.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

* * *

Unfortunately for Buffy, fourth period came and went before she knew it, and then it was time for lunch. She took her time in loading her books into her locker, the only thing she kept from her belongings being a black gel pen and an empty notebook to lay out some ground rules for whatever was going on between her and Jonah.

She was in the lunch line, notebook tucked under her arm, when someone from behind snaked their arms around her waist. Almost reflexively, she jabbed whoever it was in the stomach. “Ow!” the person yelped, and Buffy turned around to see it was Jonah.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she retorted. It was about the closest thing he was going to get to an apology.

“Sorry,” Jonah said, but he sounded more amused than apologetic. “I told you I was going to see you at lunch, remember? I did give you a pretty memorable goodbye, after all.”

Buffy winced as the memory played in her mind. “Yeah, about that…” The lunch line moved forward, and they both grabbed trays and silverware. “I don’t want you to kiss me anymore.”

A frown marred Jonah’s features. “What? Why not?”

Buffy glanced around to see if anyone was listening, but everyone was too caught up in their own conversations to pay them any attention. “Look, maybe you’ve been in a relationship before, but I haven’t. And there’s certain things like _kissing_ that I don’t want to do unless they’re real.”

The frown slowly morphed into an understanding smile. “Okay, that’s dociou—cool.” They moved up in line again, Buffy grabbing a turkey sandwich and Jonah getting a piece of pizza. “But we’re going to have to figure out something so people know we’re actually together,” he pointed out, reaching across Buffy and grabbing a milk carton. “We have to make it look real, right?”

Buffy picked up a bag of chips and tossed it onto her tray. “Right,” Buffy agreed. “Can’t we just hold hands or something?”

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with,” Jonah shrugged. “I think it’s believable enough.”

“Okay, good,” she said. As they reached the end of the line, they punched in their student ID numbers and began weaving in and out of tables.

After a moment, Buffy gestured to an empty table towards the middle of the cafeteria. “Okay,” she said as they sat down across from each other. “There’s still some rules we need to go over.”

“Rules?” Jonah asked in amusement. “What else is there besides no kissing?”

“Well, we want to make this believable, right?” Buffy asked. He nodded. “Then we should make a list of coupley things we have to do so it _looks_ real.”

“Okay,” Jonah said slowly. “Like what?”

Buffy hummed in thought for a moment. “Well, for starters, we should probably sit together at lunch.”

He nodded in agreement. “All right. Your friends or mine?”

“Mine,” she said firmly. “There’s only so much frisbee talk a person can handle, and for me, it’s next to none.”

Jonah looked slightly offended, but then laughed. “You’re funny, Buffy.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, so our first two rules: no kissing and you have to sit with my friends at lunch.” At the top of the paper, she wrote _Jonah and Buffy’s Contract_ in her cursive before adding, _No kissing. (Holding hands is okay.)_

“Here, let me write in the next one,” Jonah offered. Before she could protest, he took the gel pen out of her hands and began writing in the next line. _Jonah has to sit with Buffy’s friends at lunch._

“All right, any ideas of what else we should put on it?” Buffy questioned. She had a few, but thought she could at _least_ give him the opportunity to make suggestions. This was _their_ contract, after all, not just hers.

“Uh,” Jonah mumbled in thought. “Oh! How about you pick me up for school?”

“Really?” Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Amber used to give me rides and I share a car with my mom, so it’d be more convenient for me anyway,” he explained. “Besides, we only live five minutes apart or something, right?”

Buffy nodded, unwrapping her turkey sandwich and taking a bite. She was _starving_ from not having eaten breakfast, just like she’d predicted would happen. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be _too_ much of a hassle,” she relented. “I’ll write it down.”

He slid the notebook across the table and Buffy penciled it in. _Buffy must give Jonah rides to school._ “What else?”

“How about…,” he trailed off. “How about I write you notes everyday?”

Even though this was pretend, completely and utterly professional, the comment made Buffy’s heart go soft. Not that her face betrayed that, of course; on the outside, she was the complete opposite: detached and stony-faced. “You’d do that?” she questioned in disbelief. If there was one thing Buffy remembered from middle school, it was that Jonah wasn’t the best at giving gifts or anything relating to sentimentality.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Amber was always wanting me to write her notes, but I was never any good at them. If I wrote them for you, maybe she’d think this was for real, you know?”

She nodded in agreement, passing him the notebook. He scrawled down, _Jonah must write Buffy one note a day._ “We should probably have something in there about you hanging out with my friends, too,” Jonah pointed out.

Buffy let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine,” she hesitantly agreed, taking the contract and writing down, _Buffy has to hang out with Jonah’s friends._ “But _no_ frisbee. That’s where I draw the line.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jonah laughed, pulling the notebook to his side of the table again. He began writing something down.

“What are you writing?” Buffy frowned, leaning over the table to see. He flipped it around for her so it would be easier to read. _Jonah ~~has to call~~ can call Buffy before bed (if he wants to.)_ “What’s that one for?”

“I don’t know, in case we need to talk or whatever,” Jonah said.

She didn’t say what she was _really_ thinking, which was that nobody would know if he called her or not; instead, she just nodded and took the notebook back. “Okay, I guess that makes six. How about we add one about going to sports games, too?”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agreed. Reluctantly, she wrote down, _Buffy must go to Jonah’s frisbee meets_ and Jonah added, _and Jonah must go to Buffy’s basketball games._

“Okay, that’s seven. Anything else?” Jonah asked, glancing at her.

“One more,” she said. He gazed at her with an intense curiosity that made her want to look away, but she stood her ground. “No snitching. If it ever got out that this was fake, it’d ruin both of our reputations.”

Jonah nodded in agreement, biting off the point of his pizza. “Yeah, definitely. Put that one down.”

Buffy scribbled in number eight. _No snitching!_ She glanced over the final product:

_Jonah and Buffy’s Contract:_

  1. _No more kissing. (Holding hands is okay.)_
  2. _Jonah has to sit with Buffy’s friends at lunch._
  3. _Buffy must give Jonah rides to school._
  4. _Jonah must write Buffy one note a day._
  5. _Buffy has to hang out with Jonah’s friends._
  6. _Jonah ~~has to call~~ can call Buffy before bed (if he wants to)._
  7. _Buffy must go to Jonah’s frisbee meets and Jonah must go to Buffy’s basketball games._
  8. _No snitching!_



“I think that’s it,” she said, glancing back up at Jonah.

“Great!” he exclaimed. “I guess this is officially the start of our fake relationship.”

He sounded _much_ too excited about this for Buffy’s own liking. “Let’s shake on it, then, to seal the contract,” she said, holding out her hand.

Jonah smiled in amusement, considering it for a second, before shaking it. “Looking forward to doing business with you,” he said with a teasing grin.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “The pleasure is all yours.”

They ate and made small talk for the remainder of lunch. Eventually, the lunch bell rang, and a thought popped into Buffy’s head. “Wait! How long are we going to be doing this, anyway?”

Jonah picked up his tray and pushed in his seat. “What do you mean?”

She did the same, grabbing her notebook and pen as well and tucking them under her arm. “This pretending thing,” she explained. “How long are we going to do this before we call it quits?”

Jonah shrugged as they made their way over to the trash bins, dumping their garbage inside before setting down their trays. “I guess as long as we need to,” he said. “A couple months at the most.”

_A couple months?_ She’d thought this was only going to last a few weeks before they fake ended it. But if it meant keeping Andi and Walker from hating her forever, she guessed it was worth it. “Fine,” she said after a moment, following him into the hallway.

“So, you’ll be picking me up tomorrow morning, right?” Jonah asked, raising his eyebrows.

Buffy gave him a reluctant nod. “As long as you’re on time.”

That comment seemed to make him a little nervous, but the look was gone as quickly as it had appeared. “Okay. See you then, I guess,” he smiled.

“Bye,” she said. They both stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before the dismissal bell rang, and they quickly went their separate ways.

As soon as Buffy reached her locker, she was spun around to face Andi and Cyrus. “Is it true?” Cyrus asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked like he’d just won free tickets to the Renaissance Fair.

“Is what true?” Buffy asked in confusion, turning the combination on her locker. Andi let out an impatient sigh.

“Come on, you know what we’re talking about,” she said. “Is it true that you and Jonah are dating?”

Buffy froze as her locker door cracked open. She and Jonah hadn’t discussed whether or not they were lying to their friends, but there _was_ a rule in the contract about keeping their mouths shut. Then again, it  wasn’t like Andi and Cyrus would blab as long as they knew how important it was to keep it quiet. In the end, she decided to stick as close as she could to the truth until she talked to Jonah about it. “Yeah, I guess,” she shrugged nonchalantly, hoping they wouldn’t make an even bigger deal about it.

“Seriously?” Andi asked with wide eyes. “I mean, Walker told me you guys kissed yesterday, but I still didn’t believe it.”

“Me neither! When did that happen?” Cyrus questioned.

For some reason, Cyrus’s voice was filled with intensity that even _Andi_ didn’t have about this whole situation. Weird. “He needed a ride last week, and I guess we just reconnected,” she explained, pulling her textbooks out of her locker.

“And you said you didn’t miss him,” Andi said. “You’re one good liar, that’s for sure."

_You have no idea_ , she thought to herself. “Thank you?”

“I never thought you’d just jump into a relationship like that,” Cyrus admitted. “But I’m _so_ happy for you!”

Buffy allowed herself a small smile, if only for Cyrus’s supportiveness. “And it’s cool that we’re together, right, Andi? I know you guys dated in middle school.”

Andi shook her head. “No, of course it doesn’t matter to me. But...he did ditch us in middle school, remember?”

“Yeah…,” Buffy trailed off. Just the memory of that whole situation made her blood boil. “But that was years ago. He’s...different now.” Andi nodded, but telling by the frown on her face, she wasn’t convinced.

“If anything, it’s Amber you should be worried about,” Cyrus interjected. “I mean, we all know how she stole Jonah away from Andi in seventh grade…”

Buffy recalled the memory with a grimace. There had been a lot of drama in their friend group eighth grade year because of that. “I’m not scared of her,” she said firmly, even though she was, if only a small percentage.

In that moment, the warning bell for class rang, and Buffy slammed her locker shut. “We can talk more about this later, okay?”

“Okay,” Cyrus mumbled, voice in a sad monotone. Andi only gave a curt nod.

“I’ll see you later,” Buffy forced a smile, pushing past her friends to get to class.

But even though she was acting casual about this whole situation, her pulse was racing underneath her skin, the same way it had been ever since she’d kissed Jonah at Red Rooster.


	5. Chapter 5

Buffy woke up feeling sick with anxiety. The fact that this was becoming a trend in her life was more than a little bothersome. She spent ten minutes staring at her ceiling, trying to coax herself up out of bed, but she didn’t actually start getting ready until her phone pinged with a text notification.

From: Jonah

_where r u?_

_it’s almost 8_

_ur late :(_

She rolled her eyes because it was barely even 7:30, and they both lived less than ten minutes drive from the school. Buffy was _not_ late.

From: Buffy

_Omw._

_BE OUTSIDE!!_

The last text was an afterthought, since she knew that even if Jonah texted her first he was still going to be running behind. He always was. She sighed and dragged her hands over her face. She _really_ did not want to get ready yet. In no way was she looking forward to actually starting…whatever the heck it was she had agreed to. For all she knew, she had signed her soul away.

She stripped off her comforter and sat up, her reflection in the mirror opposite her bed frowning back at her. Getting dressed was a quick affair—mix-match socks pulled onto her feet, yesterday’s jeans tugged on over that. Her pajama shirt passed enough as a graphic tee to warrant leaving that on as long as she threw a jacket over it, and then she was headed out of her room towards the kitchen.

The clock on the oven read 7:40, which meant she didn’t have time to sit down and eat breakfast with her dad like she’d intended to, but she pressed a kiss to his cheek on her way to grab a granola bar from the cupboard.

“Running late?” Her dad looked up from his newspaper, reading glasses slid to the tip of his nose. He was teasing, and Buffy rolled her eyes the way he knew she was going to.

“No,” she answered, hidden behind the cupboard door, “The rest of the world is running early.”

Her dad laughed, just like she knew he would. This was a regular exchange, something that happened more often than not, but Buffy was immensely thankful for something normal in the midst of how hectic the rest of the week had been. She glanced at the clock again, noting that she really _was_ running late now. She threw a goodbye to her dad over her shoulder on her way out. As the clock on her dash changed to 7:48, Buffy mentally cursed the fact that she had to go pick up Jonah instead of just heading straight to school. Stuck at a stop sign, she thought, _He_ _better be outside._

Jonah was _not_ outside waiting when Buffy pulled into his driveway. Irritated, she honked the horn once, a warning that if he didn’t leave the house _right now_ , she was going to leave him. She was backing out of the driveway when Jonah stumbled out the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder even though it was open, a noticeably burnt piece of toast in his mouth. Buffy stopped the car only long enough for him to fall into the seat and close the door again before she was speeding out of the neighborhood towards the school.

“How is it,” Buffy asked, irritation clear in her voice, “that you texted _me_ about being late and you’re _still_ not ready?” Jonah shrugged, at least having the decency to look partially apologetic.

They drove in silence, the only noise came from the hum of the engine and the music that played through the radio. Buffy parked her car in the lot across the street from the school like always, and Jonah wisely kept his mouth shut about having to walk the extra distance.

Buffy hesitated outside of the gate to the quad, heart raging against her rib cage. This really was _it_. Jonah slipped his hand into hers, and even though it shouldn’t possibly calm her down, it did.

“Ready?” The question was soft in a way Buffy wasn’t used to Jonah being. But then again, after nearly four years removed from him, Buffy wasn’t used to Jonah at all. She nodded despite herself, pushing down all the worries that fought to the surface of her mind.

Buffy forced an easygoing smile onto her face, and with that, they entered the quad.

* * *

To say that Buffy was used to people staring was an understatement. She caught people’s attention everywhere she went. Whether it was due to the curl of her hair, the fact that she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, or some other multitude of reasons, people stared.

But this? Walking into school with Jonah Beck by her side, holding her hand in a way that left no room for confusion? This was a completely different level of attention. Walking through the quad was a different kind of anxiety, because Buffy felt like everyone could tell how fake it all was. Could they tell that Buffy and Jonah were walking just a little too far apart? Did it look like smiling so brightly hurt her? Did it—

Jonah leaned over, talking low, “Would you relax? You’re fine.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I _am_ relaxed.” But she wasn’t. She really, really wasn’t. She pushed the stress building in her chest away, focusing on all the places where Jonah’s hand connected with hers. The warmth seeping into her skin was a distractant, and for a moment, she was almost able to forget that it was _Jonah’s_ hand she was holding. They stopped every few feet, Jonah chatting with everyone in the school. At least, that was how it felt.

When they arrived at her locker, Buffy was profoundly thankful for a reason to let go of his hand. Jonah leaned on the locker next to hers, watching her twirl her combination. She didn’t actually need anything from her locker for first period, but the fact that opening it allowed her a break from all the pretending was nice at least. “Is there anyone you _don’t_ know at this school?”

“Probably not.” Buffy glanced over at him, pretty sure that he was joking, not that it would be unbelievable if he wasn’t. As it were, Jonah _was_ joking. It was clear in the way the corners of his mouth quirked, not a full-blown smile, but close. Buffy rolled her eyes, closing her locker with more force than was strictly necessary.

The bell rang, signaling for the students to get to class. The hallways teemed with movement, everyone shoving past each other in haphazard chaos. Jonah grabbed Buffy’s hand again, falling into step. She looked over at him, eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “What are you doing?”

Jonah shrugged, careless. “Walking you to class.”

“Isn’t your first period class English? That’s on the other side of the school.”

“Buffy, what kind of fak—I mean, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t walk you to class?”

“The kind that actually cares about their own education.”

Jonah laughed, but all that did was irritate her even more. “You’re funny, Driscoll. Just let me do this.” It wasn’t like she was actually going to stop him. By the time they reached her class, the hallways were clearing. The warning bell was going to ring any minute, but Jonah still took the time to pull Buffy into a hug that lasted a beat too long for her comfort. She walked through the door, keeping her gaze trained in front of her while she made her way to her seat. The fact that she could still feel everyone’s eyes on her as she sat down was bothersome, but she ignored the urge to snap at them. For now, at the very least.

* * *

Lunch was a necessary evil Buffy didn’t want to face. At the end of her fourth period class, she took her time packing up her bag, hoping to avoid the rush. Jonah was waiting for her outside the room, leaning against the wall. When he saw her, he smiled, sunshine in the dark, like Buffy made him _that_ happy. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket just so Jonah couldn’t reach for her hand again. There was only so much physicality that she could take. They fell into step, heading for the cafeteria.

“How was class?” It was an innocent enough question, one that Buffy could answer so flippantly it wouldn’t matter. But she was tired, and irritable, and really ready for the day to be over, so she didn’t say anything. From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod to himself, mouth pressed into a bothered line. _Whatever_.

They stood in the lunch line, Jonah still annoyingly close, Buffy still trying too hard to ignore him, everyone else still staring. The whole room felt charged, like if someone said the wrong thing, sparks would start flying. Buffy typed her student ID dumber into the keypad more aggressively than she needed to. Aggressive seemed to be her only emotional outlet for the day.

Jonah moved to start walking towards his usual table, but Buffy hooked her arm around his and tugged him towards her friends. She said, “Did you really forget already? Lunches are spent with _my_ friends.”

He pouted, but Buffy didn’t waver. “Come on, you’ll be fine.”

Andi and Cyrus were already sitting at their usual table at the back of the cafeteria when Buffy and Jonah arrived. Buffy was mildly impressed that the conversation didn’t grind to a halt when Jonah sat down across from them, even though she could tell how startled both of her friends were. Maybe it was due to the shock of seeing him again after years of being removed from his presence. Despite her friends’ wide eyes, Buffy pretended that his presence was nothing new.

Pulling the crust off her cheese pizza, she asked, “Where’s Walker?” The fourth corner of their friend group was usually there before any of them, already half way through his lunch by the time the rest caught up. He wasn’t in his seat next to Andi at the moment, and Buffy was immensely aware of the empty space. At the sound of the name, Jonah shifted just a bit closer, enough for Buffy to notice all the places where they connected—hip, thigh, knee. Her heartbeat stuttered, but she wrote the act off as him playing the boyfriend role. He’d had way more practice than she had, evidently.

“The art building, probably. You know how he gets around a deadline.” Andi shrugged, shaking off the initial shock she’d been working through. Buffy nodded, because she’d spent more than her own fair share of late nights helping Walker work on whatever painting or shoe remodel he’d been procrastinating on. The wonders of living so close to a scatterbrained artist. Turning to Jonah, Cyrus said, “How have you been?”

Jonah looked up from his lunch tray, where he’d been pushing the food around to look like he was eating. “Oh, me? Good. I’ve been… good.” He looked at Buffy, like he expected her to rescue his floundering conversation attempt. She did not. She let him flounder. “How, uh, how have you guys been?”

“ _Great_.” Andi replied, heavy on the sarcasm. “We haven’t talked to you in years and then all of a sudden you’re sitting at our lunch table again. Dating my best friend.”  Buffy frowned, catching the subtle way Jonah curled in on himself. Something Andi chose to ignore. Cyrus, bless his heart, noticed the look on Buffy’s face, though, and nudged Andi with his elbow. She glanced at him with a look that said,  _W_ _hat?_ He looked back, answering, _Ch_ _ill._ She rolled her eyes.

“Right.” Jonah finally said, breaking through the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them. He cleared his throat once for good measure. “I’m sorry about that. Things just got…weird. And I shouldn’t have let it happen.”

Before Andi could speak up, because they could _all_ see the storm working itself up in her mind, Cyrus cut in. “That’s okay. You’re here now, and we’re all good. That’s what matters.” He almost sounded like he believed it.

* * *

The rest of the day passed without a hitch. For the remainder of lunch, Andi tried her best to not be _overly_ snarky, which Buffy appreciated more than she thought she would. They planned to meet up at Buffy’s house later on after school in order to get a jumpstart on their homework. This was all code for crowding around Walker’s laptop to watch reruns of _Friends_ with their homework assignments in a heap around them. On the walk to class, Jonah told Buffy that he wasn’t going to be able to make it to her house, partially because he had frisbee practice, but mostly because he didn’t think he could handle any more time around Andi for the day. Plus, he’d argued, just because they were “dating,” it didn’t mean they always had to spend time around each other. Buffy rolled her eyes, but ultimately gave him a pass.

When the last bell rang, signalling the dismissal, Buffy was the first person out of the parking lot, which meant she was also the first person to arrive at her house. Everyone else would file in later, most likely without knocking, and she needed the time to make sure the pantry was stocked with enough bags of junk food to tide them over until she could convince her dad to let them order in.

Buffy walked into the kitchen, flipping the light on out of habit. On the counter, her father had left the mail in two piles, which usually meant that she’d received something, too. A sticky note written in her father’s scrawl was tacked onto the single envelope in her pile. She picked up the piece of mail, and her heart stuttered.

_Marked return to sender. Figured it was important. Who’s Jefferson?_

Another letter. She peeled the post-it off and crumbled it in her hand. Her own swirling cursive stared back— _Jefferson Dalton._ This had been the first love letter Buffy ever wrote, and even in the midst of the mess that was the rest of her letters getting out, she was oddly thankful this one had made its way back to her. Right as she moved to tear open the envelope, the front door opened. Buffy hastily shoved the letter into her back pocket, peeking out into the hallway to see who had arrived.

Walker stood by the staircase, backpack at his feet, rapid-fire texting away on his phone. It wasn’t unusual for her friends to arrive unannounced, but this time sent her stomach reeling. Walker looked up as soon as he noticed Buffy walking towards him, and the smile that bloomed over his face made Buffy feel guilty. “Hey.”

“Hi.” They stood in the hallway, Buffy on edge, Walker seemingly oblivious. Had he received his letter yet? Was he ever going to tell her even if he did? “Are Andi and Cyrus on their way?”

He nodded, tucking his phone away in the pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah, Andi just texted. They got stuck in the afterschool rush at Peetz, but should be here soon.”

The two of them make a round through the kitchen, grabbing various snacks on their way into the living room. Buffy flipped on the TV, settling in on one side of the couch while Walker took up the other end. The letter she’d picked up earlier was burning a hole in her pocket, and her entire body felt too wired. The silence of it all was starting to get to her.

“So,” Buffy set her phone down in her lap. “Have you gotten any mail lately?” Could she have possibly made that question any weirder? Her heart was sitting inside of her throat now, and she only had herself to blame.

The wrinkle between Walker’s brows revealed more confusion than anything else. “What? No, not lately. Why?”

Buffy shrugged, hoping she looked more nonchalant than she felt. “I was just… wondering, I guess. I got a letter from UC Berkeley for early admission, so I wanted to know if anyone else did, too.” This was a lie, and even though Buffy Driscoll valued honesty over all else, all she had done this week was lie. What was one more added to the pile?

“Oh, yeah, I haven’t gotten anything yet. I’ll let you know if I do, though.”

This meant, Buffy hoped, that he had not in fact received her letter.

“So you’re really with Jonah now, huh?” She should have expected the change of topic, but she hadn’t. Did he sound judgemental? No, he couldn’t possibly. Walker was never _judgemental_ … right?

“I am.” Just because it was fake didn’t mean it wasn’t _happening_ . Buffy shifted in her seat, pulling her legs up against her chest. She rested her crossed arms on her knees, and then rested her chin on top of it all. “Andi told you, huh? I meant to talk to you guys all at once but…you know how Andi is. She and Cyrus pretty much ambushed me when they saw us together like _once_.”

Walker laughed, his nose crinkled in the way it got when he found something really funny. “I do know how they are. But no, actually. Jonah told me first.”

This was a surprise, even though it should not have been. This day was just full of surprises. “Really? When did you even talk to him?” She didn’t say that it couldn’t have been at lunch since Walker _never even showed_ , even though she thought about it.

“We have homeroom together, remember? I always seem to have homeroom with him every year. Maybe it’s a last name thing.”

“Maybe. What did he say?” She wasn’t being defensive, just…curious. She had a right to be curious about what her fake-boyfriend was telling her friends.

Walker shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Buffy felt like it was a big deal. “Nothing, really. Just that you guys got together recently. And that he thought you were…what was that catchphrase he used to say all the time back in middle school?”

Buffy cringed. “Docious magocious?” Even just _parroting_ the phrase felt like a fundamental sin.

“Yes! That’s it. He said you were docious, and that was pretty much it.”

Buffy buried her face away behind her crossed arms. She _told_ him to stop saying that, good God. Her voice came away muffled when she said, “I hate him.”

Walker laughed, and even though she knew he wasn’t laughing at her in particular, it felt like he was. “No, you don’t.”

Buffy looked up, glaring. Walker put his hands up in surrender, turning back to watching the show they’d abandoned. Buffy picked up her phone and pulled up Jonah’s contact before firing off a text.

From: Buffy

_You did NOT call me docious magocious._

_I will not accept that._

From: Jonah

_..._

_it was an accident_

Buffy rolled her eyes. _An accident_. This whole situation was an accident.

From: Buffy

_No!!!_

From: Jonah

_:-)_

Buffy dropped her phone into her lap, effectively giving up on the conversation. When it came to that stupid phrase, convincing Jonah to stop was a lost cause. She was still going to try, though.

Andi and Cyrus arrived shortly afterward, each carrying a coffee cup from Peetz in both hands. They passed Walker and Buffy their respective drinks, falling into their spaces on the couch beside their friends. With a sigh, Buffy shoved the anxiety she’d been harboring to the back of her mind. It wasn’t like worrying about the letters getting out would change the situation, anyway. And with that final thought, she turned towards the TV and watched the show with her friends, the way it always had been.


	6. Chapter 6

After a few hours, the boys departed from Buffy’s house, ultimately leaving Andi and Buffy alone. Walker had another shift at work (he was trying to save up as much as possible for college) and Cyrus had some sort of planned hangout with TJ, so that left both of the girls to their own devices. They were up in Buffy’s room—Andi sprawled out on the bed scrolling through social media and Buffy sitting at her desk doing homework. It was silent for the most part, except for the occasional comment or joke. Buffy liked that about her friendships with Andi, Cyrus, and Walker—it never felt like she had to constantly fill the quietness between them. Sometimes, it was just okay to sit in comfortable silence together.

It was quiet for a while until Andi finally asked, “Are you joining any extracurriculars besides basketball this year?”

Buffy spun around in her swivel chair. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

The other girl shrugged, glancing up at her from her phone. “Well, Walker and I are in Art Club, me and Cyrus are in Drama Club, and all three of us in Yearbook. I was just thinking maybe you could join something else this year. Colleges look at that kind of stuff, you know, not just grades.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “The only clubs I’m interested in joining are sports teams. Specifically, ones that won’t get me picked on like all the activities you just listed.”

Andi made an exaggerated sigh, rolling over on the bed. “Fine. At _least_ consider doing another sport. Just doing basketball may not cut it for whatever college you apply to.”

She huffed defeatedly before spinning back around in her chair. “I will,” she announced in a defiant tone. She pulled out her phone and went to the Grant website for the list of student activities. When she reached the sports section, she stopped. Swimming? Interfered with basketball season. Football? Too physical. Cheerleading? No. Ultimate Frisbee? _Definite_ no. Softball? Already ended.

On and on the list went until a specific word caught her eye. _Track_. She hadn’t done track since eighth grade—her dad hadn’t wanted her to become too overwhelmed with sports since she’d been entering high school. But now, she was older, and she was still a very fast runner. Hm…

“Maybe I’ll rejoin the track team,” Buffy said, setting down her phone and turning around again.

Andi set down hers, too, giving her a wide-eyed look. “Track? Didn’t you quit the team after eighth grade?”

“Only because of my dad,” Buffy explained. “He was worried about me being too stressed out, but I can handle it now. Besides, it ends before basketball season starts.”

She nodded in approval. “True. Didn’t you and Marty become friends because of track?”

Buffy turned to face her desk, hoping that Andi wouldn’t notice the blush on her cheeks. “Well, we were both in track together, but we met at that party you had at your house in seventh grade, remember?”

“Oh, right, I remember now!” Andi exclaimed. “You guys met at the snack table, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, smiling at the memory. They’d both been getting cheese puffs at the same time, and the rest was history from there.

“Everybody always thought you guys were going to get together,” Andi admitted. “I’m surprised you didn’t. He was always getting you extra napkins and stuff. It was so cute.”

“He was just being thoughtful!” Buffy protested. “Besides, he moved away, so it’s not like anything could’ve happened.”

“But you wanted it to, right?” Andi questioned, teasing in her voice. Now Buffy was _really_ blushing.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t like him like that. And it doesn’t matter. I’m with Jonah now.”

A part of her regretted saying that, because the minute the words left her mouth, she knew she was going to be bombarded with Jonah Beck questions. Naturally, she was right, much to her own dismay. “Oh, right. _Jonah._ So, how is the backstabber—” Buffy gave her a look. “I mean, boyfriend,” Andi corrected.

“Look, I know a lot happened in middle school,” Buffy began, “but that was nearly three years ago. He’s changed since then.” She wasn’t sure _why_ she was defending Jonah; maybe it was because she’d expected a little more support from Andi than she was currently getting.

“I know,” she sighed. “I’m trying to get over it for your sake, I promise, but it’s still hard considering we never even got an apology.”

“Well, maybe you’ll get one from him now that he’s back in our lives,” Buffy smiled despite the bad taste the words left in her mouth. She didn’t like how _permanent_ it all sounded, especially when she knew this whole dating thing was only going to last for a few months at the most.

Andi gave her a look, one that showed she obviously had no hope for an apology at this point. “I guess we’ll see,” she said tersely.

Before Buffy could reply, there was a knock on the door, and her dad peeked his head into the room. “Hey, girls,” he smiled. Buffy warmed immediately at the sight of him. “I just got off early from finishing a delivery. What’re you doing?”

Andi shrugged. “Just talking about Buffy’s new boyfriend.”

Buffy felt the smile on her face drop as she watched the her dad’s face furrow in confusion. “You have a boyfriend? What’s his name?” he asked, hurt and confusion plain on his face.

“You didn’t tell your dad?” Andi questioned with wide eyes, but there was also a slightly smug look on her face.

Buffy chose to ignore her. “It _just_ happened, Dad. And my boyfriend’s name is Jonah,” she said, the words sounding weird and unnatural in her own head. She never thought she’d be calling _Jonah Beck_ her boyfriend, that was for sure, but here she was, announcing it to everyone. “Do you remember him from middle school? He used to be one of our friends.”

The confusion on his face lessened. “Oh, now I remember. Jonah Beck. He came over a lot with that Amber girl, right? And he played frisbee?”

The smirk on Andi’s face filled Buffy with annoyance. She didn’t like Andi’s blatant disapproval of her "relationship" with Jonah, even if it _was_ just pretend. “He’s actually the captain of the Ultimate Frisbee team,” Buffy added, trying to keep a straight face as she said the words. It was nearly impossible to do so considering the idea of playing frisbee to her was laughable, but she managed to pull through, at least to spite Andi. “You know, the Space Otters? I think you dropped me off at a meet once back in middle school.”

“Oh, right,” he nodded in agreement, but Buffy could tell he didn’t remember. “So, when are you going to bring him around the house again? It’s been, what, three years? I’d like to meet him...or remeet him, I guess I should say.”

“Yeah, Buffy, when’s Jonah going to meet your dad?” Andi piped up, giving her a pointed look.

“Soon, I promise,” she told her dad, giving Andi side-eye in the process. “I’ll bring him by sometime, okay? I _really_...want you to meet him,” she finished lamely.

The smile returned to her father’s face. “Good. Give me a heads up before you do, okay? I’d like to prepare my ‘Dad speech’ or whatever it is I’m supposed to say to scare him,” he joked. “I’m going to start on dinner. Is spaghetti okay?”

Buffy plastered a smile of her own on her face. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Daddy.” He nodded at her good-naturedly before closing the door. “ _What_ is wrong with you?” she questioned Andi. “ _Obviously_ I hadn’t told my dad yet. Why did you have to tell him?”

Andi shrugged. “I didn’t know,” she protested, but she sounded pleased with herself. “Besides, why don’t you want your dad to know? He’s, like, the nicest guy I’ve ever met. It’s not like he’s going to be mean to him or anything.”

She just shook her head. She couldn’t tell Andi the _real_ reason she didn’t want her dad to know she was dating Jonah—because it was fake and she didn’t want to get him attached. So instead, she just let out a sigh. “You’re right,” she admitted. “It’s just weird territory for us, I guess. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”

“Believe me, I know. I’ve been begging you to get one for years,” Andi joked. “And...even though I’m not particularly _fond_ of Jonah after what happened, I’m happy for you.”

That made her smile for real this time. “Thanks,” Buffy said. Before either of them could say anything else, a loud ringing sound filled the room.

“I think that’s me,” Buffy said, grabbing her phone off her desk. It buzzed in her hand, the name _Jonah_ flashing on the screen. She had yet to put in a contact picture of him, mostly because she didn’t have one. That’d probably have to change soon, sadly. She knew her friends would find it weird that she didn’t have any pictures of him. “It’s Jonah.”

“You better answer that,” Andi sighed, a tight smile on her face. “I’m going to head out. It’s dumpling night at Cece’s house and there’s _no_ way I’m missing that.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Buffy managed to say before Andi grabbed her stuff and walked out of the room. As she shut the door, Buffy swiped right on the call. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Jonah’s voice greeted her from the other end, along with some yelling and the blowing of a whistle. Wherever he was, it was _loud_. “What are you doing right now?”

She frowned, shuffling around in her chair. “I’m at home. Why?”

There was more yelling and maybe a few yelps of pain on his end before Jonah answered again. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up at The Spoon in a little bit. To talk more about this...dating thing.”

As much as she hated to admit it, he _was_ right. There was still a lot to talk about, even if they’d already made a contract. “Fine,” she agreed, not even bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. “I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes.”

Buffy could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “I’ll be there.” That was Jonah, always smiling. She hated that she could tell he was doing it over the phone.

“Okay, bye,” she mumbled before ending the call with a single click. Immediately, she got up from her desk chair and walked to the kitchen. Her father was standing in front of the oven, putting a tray of garlic bread on the rack as a pot of noodles boiled on the stovetop. “I’m going to The Spoon to meet...someone, but I promise I won’t be gone long,” Buffy explained, grabbing her keys off the hook. “Save me a plate, okay?

He nodded. “Make sure to be back by five,” he said, closing the oven door shut. There was a pause before he asked, “Does this have anything to do with Jonah?”

Buffy froze, hand hovering by the key hook. “No,” she said. She was already lying about her whole relationship with Jonah; what was one more lie?

By the look on his face, Buffy could tell he didn’t believe her. “If you say so,” he smiled, stirring the pot of sauce.

“Right,” she muttered before turning towards the door and running to her car, sidling in the driver’s seat in one swift motion. She stuck the keys in the ignition and buckled her seatbelt before beginning the drive to the diner.

The Spoon was bustling with activity when Buffy stepped through the doors, the dinner rush starting in at full speed. Immediately, she spotted a quiet booth in the corner and sat down, picking up a menu and pretending to glance over it. At some point, a waitress came by to take her order, but she remembered the spaghetti her dad prepared at home and just ordered a vanilla Coke.

As she sipped her soda, she kept her eyes on the door, watching the clock tick by. With each passing minute, she grew more and more irritated, knowing that if Jonah didn’t hurry up, they wouldn’t be able to talk about...whatever predicament they’d gotten themselves into.

It was half-past four when Jonah finally entered the restaurant, the bell hanging above the door announcing his arrival as he slid in the seat across from Buffy. His hair was freshly washed, his outfit from school put on haphazardly. “Sorry I’m late,” he grinned, picking up a menu. “Frisbee practice took longer than usual and I had to walk from the school.”

“It’s fine,” Buffy mumbled, even though it wasn’t, not really. “Why didn’t you just ask me for a ride?”

Jonah shrugged sheepishly. “You’re already giving me rides to school. I thought it would be too much.”

For a split second, she felt bad, but the moment was gone as soon as it had arrived, her emotions bouncing back into their previous annoyed state. “I start practice next week for track, so you can get a ride with me afterwards. Unless you’d rather walk home,” she suggested, folding her arms on the table.

He shook his head, eyes widening. “I wouldn’t,” he said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. “Thanks, Buffy. I know that’s not in the contract or anything.”

She glanced into those green eyes of his for a split second, then instantly regretted it, taking a sip of her Coke. “I’m only doing it because it’s more convenient for both of us,” she said, even though it didn’t really benefit _her_ in any way. Except for the fact that it made the whole dating thing more believable, of course. “Anyway, we need to get our story straight. About how we got together and everything,” she said. Jonah nodded in understanding. “So, what is it?”

“Why are you asking me?” Jonah asked in confusion.

She rolled her eyes in irritation. “I figured since you’re friends with literally _everyone_ that you would’ve worked something out when they asked you about it.”

“I don’t know, I guess it never really came up,” Jonah shrugged. “But I know our close friends will want to know and stuff. I mean, it all really happened out of nowhere.”

She gave a single nod to show she was in agreement. As much as she hated to admit it, Jonah was right. “True,” she sighed. “The truth is more believable than any lie we could come up with, so we should probably just stick to the truth as close as we can.”

“Which is…?”

Buffy paused as a waitress came to get their orders. Jonah got a chocolate milkshake and a basket of baby taters while Buffy asked for a refill on her vanilla Coke. As the waitress walked away, she said, "That I gave you a ride to school a couple weeks ago and we ‘reconnected’ or whatever. That’s what I told Andi and Cyrus when they asked, but we still need to embellish it more. It’s not enough.” She drank the remains of her Coke, crunching on a piece of ice she’d accidentally sucked through the straw.

“Okay,” Jonah said slowly. “We had those first couple days off last week for teacher meetings, right? So let’s just say we got together then.”

She thought back to last week. She hadn’t really done much those first days except for taking a few trips to The Spoon with Andi, Cyrus, and Walker and working at Red Rooster. “That could work,” she agreed. “Andi knows my dad hasn’t met you as my...boyfriend yet, so we’ll have to say we hung out at your house.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “Who asked who out, then?”

“You asked me,” Buffy replied simply. “I wouldn’t have made the first move because you used to date Andi.”

Jonah smiled at Buffy as their waitress set down his milkshake, baby taters, and her refill of Coke. “Thanks,” he said, giving the waitress that blinding smile of his before taking a sip of his milkshake. Once she walked away, he added, “That’s a good point.” He grabbed a baby tater out of the basket and popped it in his mouth. “You want some?” he asked.

She shook her head even though she really _did_ want baby taters. “My dad made dinner at home. Anyway, what else can we do to make this convincing? Besides the contract, I mean.”

Jonah held his hand out across the table. “Here, give me your phone.”

“Why?” she questioned.

“You’ll see,” he promised, extending his hand out farther.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and set it down. “Wipe your hands first,” she said wearily. With an eye roll, Jonah grabbed a napkin and wiped his fingers, grease staining the paper. “Here.” She handed him the phone, watching as he pressed a few buttons and smiled at the screen. “Did you just take a picture?” she asked.

He nodded, his face focused on the screen. “Yeah. I’m making it your screensaver. And I changed your Instagram bio.” He handed her back the phone. Her Instagram profile read "Jonah-9/12/18" with a heart and a lock next to it. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at how _Jonah_ it was.

“Fine,” she said, “then you have to give me your phone, too.”

Jonah grinned as he pulled his phone out of his own pocket. He held it out to her, then pulled his hand back. “Only if you wipe your hands first,” he said playfully.

Buffy grabbed a napkin, making a show of cleaning her hands before grabbing the device in his hand. She tried a couple poses on the camera before taking a picture. Her lips were curled in the smallest of smiles,  her eyebrows furrowed. She showed Jonah, but he shook his head. “You look like you hate me in that picture,” he pointed out, drinking his milkshake.

“I thought we were sticking as close to the truth as possible,” she said, sipping her soda. She watched his eyes widen in hurt before she added, “Kidding.” She was. Sort of. “And if the picture’s so bad, then why don’t you take it?”

“I will,” he said, taking the phone out of her hands. He leaned back in the booth to get her full body in the picture. “Make a heart with your hands.”

Grudgingly, she did so, curving her hands into the shape of a heart. “And smile big,” he added. She plastered a huge smile on her face, tilting her head a little to the side as he snapped a couple photos. “These look great!” he exclaimed, showing her the pictures. She had to admit they really _did_ look good.

“Maybe you should consider being a photographer. You know, if being a professional frisbee player doesn’t work out,” she teased, crossing her arms as he set the screensaver on his phone.

“You mean _Ultimate_ Frisbee player,” he grinned. Buffy couldn’t help but smile despite herself.

“Whatever,” she said, waving a hand dismissively in the air. “And you can write your own Instagram bio. I’m sure you’re better at that kind of stuff than me.”

Jonah rolled his eyes, passing her his phone from across the table. “Come on, you can do it. It’ll be good practice. You know, for the real thing.”

She felt a bloom of warmth in her chest from the sentiment, even though she _knew_ she probably wouldn’t be the kind of person to put something like that on her boyfriend’s profile. She typed in "Buffy was here: 9/12  <3" before sliding it back across the table.

“Not bad, Driscoll,” he grinned, glancing at his phone. She rolled her eyes, not unkindly this time. “That should do it.”

“Fake relationships are a lot of work, that’s for sure,” Buffy said dryly. They both shared a slight smile at the comment.

Fifteen minutes passed, in which they both worked out small details in their fake relationship. Buffy made small notes in her mind to write down everything they’d talked about when she got home; it was always easier for her to work things out on paper. They talked about how Jonah had "asked her out" (he’d invited her to his house and asked her over some to-go baby taters from The Spoon, which was pretty believable on both ends) and how they’d been keeping their dating life on the down-low ever since because Jonah had just gotten out of his relationship with Amber a few weeks before. They had most of the details figured out by the time the bill for their food came around, and Jonah pulled a few wadded dollars out of his pocket and handed it to the waitress. “You didn’t have to do that,” Buffy said defensively, getting up from the booth they’d been sitting in.

“It’s no problem,” Jonah shrugged, taking the receipt and shoving it in his pocket. “It was like, what, two dollars? Besides, we’re fake dating now. Might as well play the part.”

She hated that he had a point. He _always_ seemed to have a point when it came to this stupid fake dating thing, and part of her found herself wondering if he’d done this before since he seemed to be such an expert. “Fine. But I’m getting it next time,” she said firmly, putting her phone in her jacket pocket.

“Whatever you say,” he said in a teasing manner, and by the tone of his voice, she could tell he didn’t take her comment seriously. Jonah Beck and his stupid carefree demeanor.

They stepped outside of the diner, now standing on the sidewalk. “Thanks for meeting me,” Jonah said after a moment. “I know it was kind of last minute and everything.”

Buffy snorted. “Everything’s last minute with you,” she pointed out. He cracked a small smile at that. “Are you going to walk all the way home or do you need another ride?”

“My mom’s actually picking me up, but thanks,” he smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘girlfriend.’”

She winced at the label even though it wasn’t real. “Right,” she said in a pained voice, turning on her heel and walking towards her car. “Be outside when I pick you up tomorrow!” she warned.

“Okay!” he called back, not that he really meant it, of course. She’d bet a hundred dollars that he’d be just as late as he was this morning, if not more so. She shook her head before climbing in the driver’s seat, starting the route home as she took one last glance at her "boyfriend."

* * *

It was later that evening when she heard from Jonah again. She was sitting at her desk, trying to concentrate on her homework, but it was nearly impossible with everything she had going on, namely her letters going missing and the fact that she was fake dating _Jonah Beck_. Was it really _that_ believable that they were dating? Would they really pull off this whole fake relationship?

In that moment, her phone dinged with a notification, and she was glad for an excuse to stop staring in faux concentration at the blank piece of paper on her desk. As she picked up her phone, she realized it was a text from Jonah Beck himself, an attachment on the message. She swiped right on the text and opened up the picture he’d sent; it was a screenshot of his Instagram notifications, the most recent one being "buffy_driscoll started following you" from an hour ago. As soon as she’d gotten home, she’d remembered to follow him; she figured it’d be pretty weird to be dating someone but not follow their social media.

From: Jonah

_u weren’t following me before??_

She snorted. It wasn’t like she followed more than a small group of people, those people being her friend group and family members.

From: Buffy

_Was I supposed to be?_

Another ding. She glanced down at the message.

From: Jonah

_i was following you!!_

She frowned, glancing at her Instagram notifications. There weren’t any new ones, at least not from Jonah. She checked her followers and scrolled through the list, and sure enough, "jonahcondorbeck" was there.

From: Buffy

_Sorry. Didn’t want to see frisbee stuff on my feed I guess!_

From: Jonah

_ur impossible_

From: Buffy

_Thanks. I try._

She set her phone down on her desk. How she was going to manage to be in a fake relationship with _Jonah Beck_ of all people was beyond her.

While she was thinking of it, she took Jonah’s screensaver and made it his contact picture for the time being. That would save her from being questioned by her friends later on, hopefully.

Later that night when she was heading to bed, she stuck her phone on the charger, her screensaver of Jonah lighting up on the screen as she did so. His green eyes were lit up like Christmas lights under the fluorescents of The Spoon, his face seeming to smile at her from the lock screen.

Turning off the lamp on her bedside table, she almost smiled back.


	7. Chapter 7

Jonah wasn’t waiting by the classroom door when third period let out like he usually was. And even though it had only been a handful of days since they started the whole arrangement, the absence of him was stark. Well, more silent than anything else. Buffy walked to her locker to drop off the US History textbook she’d been carrying around since first period, but when she opened the metal door, a folded up piece of binder paper fluttered to the floor.

_Froyo after school? Nat invited us. Pick you up at 4._

Buffy definitely _did not_ smile at that. Maybe just a little. She tucked the note away between the pages of her novel for English class so it wouldn’t get crushed at the bottom of her bag. The bell rang through the overhead speakers, signaling for everyone to get to their next class. Buffy very purposefully ignored the fuzzy feeling that had crept up as soon as she opened the note. If she didn’t acknowledge it, then the feeling wasn’t there. Obviously.

* * *

Lunch was uneventful in the fact that Andi did not ice Jonah out the entire time. Buffy could tell that her friends were trying to be more open to him hanging around, if not for their own sake then for hers, and she appreciated it. Even if it actually felt like one giant, awful lie.

After school, Buffy drove home. Jonah ended up leaving school early, so she hadn’t had to worry about dropping him off. This meant, however, that she had more time to worry about hanging out with Jonah’s friends on her own for the first time since they’d gotten together. What if his friends didn’t like her? What if they didn’t talk to her at all? What if all they talked about was _frisbee_? Why did she even care?

When she got home, she tried to work on her homework at least a little bit, but her mind kept falling back to the frozen yogurt trip she was supposed to be apart of later on. Buffy scrubbed a hand over her face, glancing at the clock on her desk. 4:03 blinked in red neon, and she rolled her eyes. Of course Jonah was late. Running perpetually late had to be some kind of fatal flaw. She looked at her phone, expecting a text to explain away the situation, but the screen was blank. Regardless, Buffy gathered up her phone, wallet, and keys and headed downstairs to wait outside.

She heard rather than saw Jonah drive up the block. The roar of an old car engine filled the air whole moments before a car was even in view. To say that this wasn’t nearly what Buffy expected would be an understatement. The terrible blue contraption pulled to a stop at the curb in front of her house, and Jonah rolled his window down, leaning halfway out of it to call over to her.

“Sorry I’m late!” The smile on his face was a permanent fixture. Buffy rolled her eyes again, pushing herself up off the porch step to walk over to him. “Car trouble.”

“I’ll say,” she grumbled, rounding the front of the car to climb into the passenger seat. The inside of the car was all crackled leather and old McDonald’s to-go bags. “Is this even safe to drive?”

“Safe enough.” Buffy buckled her seatbelt, looking over at Jonah in a way that conveyed she most definitely did not find this as amusing as he did.

He was smiling at her, brilliant and oblivious, regardless. “It was my dad’s car. He spent more time with this Dodge Challenger than he did with me when I was growing up. I don’t know why he left it with us when he left, but I share it with my mom now.”  

When Jonah first told Buffy he shared a car with his mom, this was not what she had in mind. What she had in mind was one of those minivans all suburban moms seem to drive—the kind that are painted champagne pale with seven seats and windows in the back that open into traffic. Not whatever this rundown hazard of a stick shift counted as. While she may have trusted Jonah _just enough_ to drive her somewhere, she did not trust his car to last long enough to get them there.

But they did. The engine growled like it was going to give out every time Jonah slowed down for a stoplight, but they managed to make it to the frozen yogurt shop. Jonah’s friends were already waiting inside when they parked, and as soon as Buffy made it to the other side of the car, Jonah grabbed her hand. If she had learned anything this past week, it was that Jonah _always_ wanted to hold hands. Which seemed like overkill, even if they weren’t in a fake relationship.

“Who’s all actually going to be here?” She probably should have asked earlier, but the question had not made itself known until they were walking towards the entrance.

“Most of the team, I guess. I’m not really sure, Nat arranged it all.”

Buffy did not say,  _I_ _s there_ anything _you’re sure about?_ even though she wanted to. Instead, she said, “Do you think they’ll like me?” She wasn’t sure why she asked this, because it wasn’t like his friends needed to like her. It wasn’t like it actually mattered. But it did, just a little bit, because even though she would never admit it, Buffy liked it when people liked her.

Jonah looked over at her, and for a split second, Buffy remembered why she used to like him so much to begin with. The soft smile he was giving her made her stomach turn over. That charming, radiant, worthy-of-outshining-the-sun smile. _God_. “Even if they don’t, I like you. That’s all that matters.” He sounded so convinced that Buffy nearly bought into it. Maybe she actually did.

* * *

When they walked into the shop, Natalie waved them over to a corner booth. The large round table was already occupied by half the Ultimate Frisbee team. Guys jostled each other at the shoulder, crumpled napkins mopped up spilled frozen yogurt, Natalie sat in the middle of it all looking like an angel. Buffy kind of loved her for it.

Back in middle school, before JonahandAmber happened, back when it really was just Jonah and Amber and the rest of the Good Hair Crew, Jonah would bring Natalie around. Sometimes she’d join them at The Spoon after school. Sometimes she would stay after the Ultimate games and help Cyrus pack up all of the snacks he’d brought. Mostly she came and went as she pleased. Buffy got along with her well enough, though they didn’t talk much outside of these moments. There was no way she would have thought that she’d find herself here, in a frozen yogurt shop, laughing with Natalie about some very stupid thing Jonah had said. But she was, and it was nice, and if Buffy was _really_ pressed to say how she felt, she would have told the truth. She liked Jonah’s friends. They weren’t that bad. And she didn’t even need to worry about them talking about Ultimate Frisbee, because as soon as they left the grass, their minds were immediately elsewhere. It was nice.

She should have known that the niceness of it all wasn’t going to last. Jonah had just arrived back with their cup of frozen yogurt—because why would he pay for _two_ cups when they could just _share_ and be grossly romantic about it?—and he was sitting down next to Buffy again when Amber walked through the door. Immediately, the air in the room turned sour, and Buffy felt Jonah lean just that much closer into her side.

“Hi, guys.” Her voice was sticky sweet, and Buffy was overwhelmed by how _fake_ she seemed. “How’s it going?”

“Better before you got here.” Jonah said under his breath. Amber turned her attention towards him, all doe-eyed lashes and pink lipgloss. She raised an eyebrow, sharp, daring him to repeat that louder. He didn’t.

“Can I join? I was just planning on grabbing a cup to go, but I’ve got some time to kill.” She didn’t wait for any of the people present at the table to answer before she dropped her bag on the empty seat next to Jonah and headed off to make her dessert. Jonah leaned back in his seat, throwing his arm around Buffy’s shoulders and pulling her closer. Buffy wasn’t sure how he managed to make the already small distance between them even smaller, but he did. It was both a comfort and an annoyance somehow.

Buffy turned her head just enough to be able to whisper a comment to Jonah while still looking lovey-dovey. “Are you okay with her being here?” She did not focus on the fact that she was so close she could count all of Jonah’s eyelashes when he closed his eyes, even though the thought fluttered through her mind multiple times. Jonah shrugged, tightening his arm around her shoulders when Amber started walking back towards the table.

“That’s the point of all this, right? She has to see us together.” Which was true, Buffy supposed. But she didn’t like the anxious twist in her stomach she felt every time Amber looked their way. She rested her head against Jonah’s shoulder, doing her best to look enraptured whenever Jonah said something. This wasn’t a hard act, all things considered. Getting lost in Jonah’s laugh seemed to be second nature now.

Amber’s presence at the table left the little group feeling stilted. She talked too loud, laughed too much, took up so much space even though she was half the size of nearly everyone else. Buffy spent most of the time watching the other customers come and go, throwing in snarky comments every once in a while so it didn’t look like she was ignoring them as much as she actually was.

She was mid-conversation with Natalie about the English essay that was due at the end of the week when the bell above the front door rang. On instinct, she glanced toward the front of the store, her heart dropping when she saw who had walked in.

Heading over to the frozen yogurt machines was someone Buffy had not talked to in years, but would have recognized anywhere. Colin Bennett stood at the back of the line, paper cup in hand while he waited to get to the machines. He looked exactly how Buffy remembered—copper red hair and freckle-painted skin and clothes that were too fashion-forward for Shadyside of all places. He was the second person she ever wrote a love letter to, and all things considered, she never thought she was actually going to see him again. He glanced over his shoulder, double-taking when he caught Buffy’s eye. She ducked her head, self-conscious in a way she hadn’t been in a while, mentally pleading with him to ignore her. He didn’t, calling her over, and Jonah encouraged her to go. So she did. She untangled herself from Jonah, brushed out the nonexistent wrinkles in her jeans, and walked over.

“Hey!” The smile that spread over Colin’s face was so genuine that Buffy didn’t even think to worry about why he’d called her over.

“Hi.” She walked through the line with him, like they were friends. Like this whole thing was normal. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good.” He sat his frozen yogurt cup on the scale, grabbing a collection of bills and a handful of change from his bag and dumping it all onto the counter to pay for it. “So, um, I got your letter.”

Buffy closed her eyes, wincing. “Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I wrote that a long, long time ago, and I never meant for it to be sent out and—"

Colin shook his head, gently touching his hand to her wrist. “Buffy, it’s cool. It was sweet, honestly. I appreciated it. But I think you should know that I’m gay.”

“No, yeah, I know.” She didn't add the _now_ to the end of the sentence, but it hung in the air anyway.

He laughed, a warm sound that made the situation feel a little less nerve-wracking. “I thought I should tell you, anyway. Oh, by the way,” he reached into his bag again, the front pocket this time, and pulled a tidy brown envelope out. He held it out for Buffy to take, which she did, smoothing her fingertips over the lettering on the front. _Colin Bennett._ Another letter making its way back to her. “This is yours. I figured you’d like it back, it being pretty personal and all.”

Buffy glanced from the letter in her hand to Colin’s face, his eyes soft in a way that meant he was being genuine. She always liked that about him. “Thank you," she said softly. “I appreciate it.”

He smiled at her, picking up his cup of frozen yogurt. “Anytime, Buffy. See you around?” She nodded, and they parted ways, Colin to the group of friends he’d came in with, Buffy back to her own collection of people.

When she reached the table, Amber was gone. She did not ask where she went, choosing to slip the letter into her bag before anyone else saw it. Jonah leaned over, nose pressed near her ear, voice low so he could whisper without their friends hearing. “What was that about?”

“Just an old friend,” she answered. “Hey, I’ll be right back okay?” She got up again, heading to the bathroom this time. Leaning against the wall in the bathroom, she pulled her phone from her pocket, fully intending to send Andi and Cyrus an SOS text. When Amber stepped out of one of the stalls, her hands stilled. They didn’t say anything for a long while. Amber washed her hands, then pulled out a glittery tube of lip gloss, focusing her whole attention on reapplying it. Buffy pretended to be typing, though why she didn’t send off an _actual_ SOS text to her friends, she didn’t know. Amber spoke first.

“You guys are cute,” she said, still fixing her makeup, “Not as cute as me and Jonah, but cute.”

“Um,” Buffy glanced up, and the split second of eye contact they shared made her feel sick. “Thank you?”

Amber cut her gaze away, pressing her lips together to evenly distribute the gloss. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. You’re just a rebound."

Buffy frowned, eyebrows pulled together partially in confusion and partially in irritation. “Excuse me?”

“Please, Buffy. Did you really think Jonah liked _you_? When he could have me?”

“Didn’t he break up with you?”

Amber turned on her heels, eyebrow raised. She so closely mimicked her behavior back in middle school that it was chilling. “He’s misguided. Confused. He’ll always love me the most, always come running back to me. You don’t even have a chance.”  Before Buffy had a chance to answer, Amber brushed past her and left the room.

Buffy locked herself in a stall, letting the door fall shut with a bang. Her chest felt tight, like if she breathed too quickly, it would burst right open. Why did talking to Amber make her feel so sick? It wasn’t like she actually _cared_ what she thought. It wasn’t like her relationship with Jonah was even _real_. But this—Amber being so smug about how deep her nails were sunk into Jonah’s heart, Amber being so sure Buffy didn’t even slightly compare—everything about it felt wrong. She forced herself to calm down, ignored the fact that her hands stung from the way she’d dug her fingers into her palms and walked back to the group. Amber was gone all together, her bag and car keys and jacket missing from the table.

Jonah looked up at her when she sat down, dropping his hand onto her knee. She let herself focus on the back and forth swipe of his thumb on her knee for just a second, the lull of it a comfort she did not realize she needed. “Are you okay?” Even though she wasn’t, not completely, she nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes, and if he wrapped his arm around her, she did not acknowledge it. Even if this was all fake, even if it was just for show, she allowed herself one moment to revel in the fact that Jonah was actively trying to make her feel safe again. Just one moment, and that was all.


	8. Chapter 8

Buffy stood at the kitchen counter, looking over the ingredients crowding the surface she was working on. She was currently trying to bake cookies; her dad’s birthday was tomorrow, and she always tried to make him _something_ in light of the occasion. This year, she was trying her hand at double chocolate chip cookies, which wasn’t really _that_ hard, but it was still somewhat of a challenge for her. Buffy had lots of strengths, but baking, however, was _not_ one of them.

As she began to measure out a cup of sugar, a knock sounded throughout the house. Frowning, she dusted the sugar crystals off her hands before walking to the front entrance.

Forcefully, she swung open the door and was surprised to see who was standing on the other side. “Jonah?” Buffy asked incredulously, immediately recognizing that familiar sweep of brown hair and that classic smile of his. “What are you doing here?”

The smile on his face quickly turned into a frown. “Didn’t you read my note? We’re having dinner at my house tonight. I came to pick you up,” he explained.

Her mind flashed to the note he’d given her at lunch, the one she’d stuck in the front of her binder and hadn’t touched since. “I forgot,” she admitted, having the decency to sound at least _somewhat_ apologetic. “And I _can’t._  Not tonight. I’m making cookies for my dad’s birthday tomorrow.”

Almost immediately, his face bounced back into its previous smile. “Really? Cool! Let me help.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “You _want_ to help me bake cookies?”

Her obvious confusion didn’t seem to deter him in the slightest. “Sure!” Jonah exclaimed. “I help my mom with that stuff all the time. And if I help, you’ll still be able to go to dinner.”

Buffy heaved a sigh before nodding in defeat. It was probably better she had help on this, anyway; she didn’t want to ruin her dad’s cookies, especially since his birthday was tomorrow and she wouldn’t have time to make another batch. Besides, she’d also be holding up her end of the contract this way. “Fine, come in,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

He brushed past her in the doorway, seemingly taking in his surroundings. “Woah, your house looks just how I remembered.”

She found herself glancing around self-consciously. Buffy and her dad hadn’t changed much over the years, except for replacing the occasional piece of furniture or putting up a new picture frame. “I guess it does,” she shrugged.

Before she could lead him into the kitchen, Jonah was picking up a picture on the coffee table and gawking at it. “Is this you?” he asked, laughter in his voice. The picture was of Buffy when she was six, crying hysterically in the mountains when they were in Germany because she had "lost" her favorite rock, even though her dad had pocketed it when she wasn’t looking.

“Yes,” she grumbled. She _hated_ that picture, but her dad always insisted on keeping it up whenever she complained about it.

“It’s so cute,” Jonah chuckled, smiling at the photo.

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking the picture frame out of his hands and setting it back down in its rightful place. “I’m glad someone thinks so,” she said dryly before walking to the kitchen. She didn’t even bother to look back at him, just expecting him to follow, and luckily, he did.

“Here’s an apron,” she said, handing him a cream-colored apron they kept in the kitchen pantry. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re wearing to dinner, so it’s probably better if you don’t ruin your outfit.”

Jonah smiled gratefully at her before taking the apron from her hands. “Thanks,” he said, rolling his sleeves and looping the apron around his neck before tying it.

“So, what time is dinner?” Buffy asked, remeasuring the cup of sugar she’d been working on before Jonah showed up. The crystals reached the brim of the measuring cup, laying flat on top. Buffy double-checked the recipe to make sure it was right before dumping it in the mixing bowl.

Jonah shrugged. “Around seven, I think.”

Buffy balked at the time. “Why is it so _late_?” she questioned, glancing between him and the recipe on the counter.

He glanced over her shoulder to read the recipe. “She doesn’t get off work until five and she wanted to go all out and everything.” He paused before asking, “Where are the eggs?”

Buffy bit back what she _wanted_ to say, which was,  _I_ _n the fridge._ Instead, she said, “They’re in the carton on the bottom shelf.”

Jonah gave her a nod before opening the refrigerator and taking out two eggs. Silently, he cracked them on the edge of the counter and plopped the yolks in the bowl. “You’re pretty good at that,” Buffy observed, taking two sticks of butter out of their paper sheath before sticking them in a glass bowl and putting them in the microwave.

“It’s just cracking eggs,” Jonah replied, but he was smiling all the same. Probably because Buffy rarely complimented people, much less _Jonah Beck_ . Maybe she’d have to work on that if it meant seeing him smile just a little wider than usual. But then again, it’s not like she should _care_ how big his smile was or not. She shook the thought from her head.

“Still,” she said after a moment. “I’m just glad I’m not the one doing it. I always get egg shells in the yolks somehow.”

Jonah laughed. “You’re probably just being too forceful. That’s not out of place for you, you know,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes at the comment, even if it was true. “Whatever,” she huffed, though she wasn’t really mad. Only annoyed at the most.

Suddenly, the timer on the microwave beeped loudly, interrupting Buffy from her thoughts. “Get that so I can mix this together,” she instructed. Jonah did as he was told, popping open the microwave and grabbing it before letting the bowl the butter was in clatter on the counter.

“That’s hot,” he complained, waving his fingers in the air as if to cool them off. Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Be more careful next time,” she warned, amusement in her voice as she dumped the melted butter into the bowl.

Silently, she whipped the sugar, butter, and eggs together as her eyes found the clock hanging on the wall. It was nearing five o’clock, and Jonah had said dinner wasn’t until seven. “Why’d you come over so early if dinner isn’t for another two hours?” she asked in confusion. Why did he have to be either two hours early or twenty minutes late? Wasn’t there _some_ sort of in between?

He let out a sigh, one that sounded almost...worried. “I’m nervous, okay?” he admitted after a moment. “You’re the first girlfriend my mom’s met in four years. I want it to go well.”

His worry was almost endearing to Buffy. _Almost_. Or at least that’s what she told herself. “I promise to behave myself,” Buffy joked as she grabbed the bag of flour sitting on the counter. “Besides, this is fake, right? If she doesn’t like me, it won’t _really_ matter since we’re going to fake break up in a few months.”

Jonah sighed again, this one sounding more relieved than anything as he grabbed the measuring cup off the counter. “I guess you’re right. I just want you to make a good impression is all.”

Buffy couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Jonah, it’ll be fine. Your mom already knows me, remember? I mean, it’s been a while, but I haven’t changed _that_ much. And I’m pretty sure she liked me back then.” There was a pause, one that made Buffy second-guess that statement. “She did like me, right?”

Jonah let out a laugh. “Yes. But it’s different now cause we’re…you know, dating. She’ll get all protective and stuff.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. If I could make _TJ Kippen_ like me, I think I can handle your mom,” she said. But the worry in Jonah’s voice started to set in a little bit, and a bundle of nerves knotted themselves in her stomach. She wanted Jonah’s mom to like her just as much as she’d wanted his friends to. This time around was a little different considering she already knew his mom, but she still wanted to make a good impression. And she for _sure_ didn’t want to be second-best to Amber. She shrugged the moment off to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, I need two cups of flour,” she mumbled to herself. “Give me the measuring cup,” she instructed, gesturing to the one in Jonah’s hand.

He held out his empty hand. “Here, let me do it. If you don’t put the exact amount of flour in, the cookies will turn out wrong.”

Buffy frowned. “I think I can measure out a cup of flour, Jonah,” she said dryly, reaching for the cup at the same time he went for the bag of flour.

“Come on, let me,” Jonah tried again. She shook her head, holding the bag away from him.

“I said I could do it.”

“I know, but I want to help—”

“Just _let_ me—”

Suddenly, Jonah ripped the bag out of her hands, flour shooting out in every direction. Buffy glared, brushing off the flour that had stuck to her face. “Sorry?” Jonah asked, though he sounded more amused than apologetic.

“You are _so_ dead,” she fumed, grabbing the bag of flour from his hand and tossing a handful in his face. His face was coated in the powder, and for a second, Buffy thought he was upset. Then—a mischievous grin overtook his face, and he was wiping his flour-dusted hands all over her. “Jonah!” she yelled, but she wasn’t really mad. “Take this!” Again, she threw more flour at him, this time aiming for his hair.

Jonah’s hands went flying to his head as he let out a gasp, his hair dusted white like he’d been outside in the snow.  For all of three seconds, it was dead quiet—then Buffy found herself doused in flour in the blink of an eye, the floor covered in it as well.

A flour fight broke out from there, both of them taking turns running around the kitchen island and throwing handfuls of white powder at each other. By the end, the area was coated in flour, every surface sprinkled with the stuff like snowflakes on the ground.

“Look at this _mess_ ,” Buffy exclaimed, eyes widened in shock, but she couldn’t _really_ bring herself to be mad. She had thrown the first shot, after all, _not_ that she’d ever admit that. Not to Jonah, anyway.

“It’s not _that_ bad,” Jonah tried to protest, moving from the other side of the counter to stand next to her. She shot him a look. “Okay, it’s bad,” he agreed.

As she examined the kitchen, she _so wanted_ to be mad at Jonah, maybe even just annoyed, but then she looked over at him with his smiling green eyes and the smudges of flour covering him from head to toe and she just couldn’t do it. Not when he looked at her like that.

She squashed the feelings in her chest— _those stupid feelings_ —before taking a deep breath. “Please tell me we still have enough flour for the cookies,” she said.

Jonah grabbed the bag off the counter—a little less than half of it was left. “This should be enough,” he assured her.

Buffy scrubbed her face, rubbing off the traces of flour there. “You finish making the cookies and I’ll clean this up, okay?” She did _not_ think about how he’d won their argument, not even as he smiled at her and poured an even two cups of flour in the mixing bowl. She also did _not_ think about how bright his smile was either as she grabbed a washcloth and wiped down every surface in the kitchen coated in powder. Definitely not.

It was about twenty-five minutes later when Buffy was dumping the full dustpan in the trash and Jonah was taking the final tray of cookies out of the oven. The kitchen was clean for the most part except for the few dishes in the sink and the surface Jonah had been working on. Buffy set the timer for ten minutes before wiping the sweat away from her brow. “That didn’t take very long,” she commented, throwing the dirty wash rag in the sink and leaning on the kitchen island.

Jonah flashed that winning smile at her, the one that made her feel like the whites of her eyes were burning. “We make a good team,” he grinned. He was close, too close for comfort. Their arms were side-by-side, Jonah’s eyes brilliant from the light overhead. She didn’t like how squirmy she felt, how she wanted to pull away from not being used to the proximity but how a bigger part of her didn’t.

For a fraction of a second, Buffy thought maybe, _just maybe_ , Jonah was going to kiss her as he leaned a little closer. And in that moment—here and then gone—she found herself welcoming the idea. Then he moved his hand to the side of her face and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “You had some flour right there,” he explained, laughter in his voice as he pulled back again.

There was the slightest of sinking disappointment in her chest, something she shoved down and tied into a knot in the pit of her stomach. “Oh, right,” she said, smiling slightly as she tucked a curl behind her ear. She looked away from Jonah, wanting to pretend that that _didn’t_ just happen. “Okay, so now that _that’s_ done, I have to clean my room.” She untied her apron before setting it down on the counter.

A frown curved onto Jonah’s lips as he took off his own apron. “ _Buffy,_ ” he whined. “We have to leave for dinner in, like, an hour.”

“We have a _little_ more time than that,” she argued. “Besides, I promised my dad I’d get it clean before his birthday. I _have_ to get this done.”

He let out a defeated sigh before nodding. “Ugh, fine,” he said, his voice full of that whining from before.

Buffy couldn’t resist rolling her eyes before grabbing his wrist and dragging him towards her room. As he moved to plop down on her bed, she stopped him. “You’re _covered_ in flour,” she pointed out. “You’re going to get it all over the bed.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad—” Jonah froze as he looked in her mirror. “My outfit!”

Buffy looked him up and down. His dinner outfit—the one they’d tried to preserve from their baking mess—was dotted with white splotches of flour. “I thought you knew that,” Buffy said, just the slightest twinge of sarcasm in her voice. She didn’t want to sound _too_ condescending—he seemed more than just nervous at this point. He looked anxious, the way he had so often in middle school.

“No, I didn’t,” he said, his voice coming out in a rushed, panicked mess. “Now _everything’s_ ruined.”

Buffy put a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around to face her. “Hey, it’s going to be fine,” she said quietly. She glanced over at her closet, considering it for a moment before moving towards the doors and swinging them open. She produced an oversized black T-shirt that her dad had given her and a pair of baggy grey basketball shorts. “Here,” she offered, holding out the clothes for him. “Change into these and I’ll put your clothes in the washer, okay? They should be clean before we go to dinner.”

A shaky smile settled on Jonah’s face, and he took a deep breath as he grabbed the clothes from Buffy. “Thanks,” he breathed out. “It’s going to be okay.” She didn’t know who he was talking to more: her or himself.

She gave him another small smile as he went into the bathroom attached to her room to change. A few minutes later, he came back out, his dinner outfit in a bundle in his arms and newly changed into the shirt and shorts Buffy had given him. His face was also freshly scrubbed of any remnants of flour, his hair restored back to its original color as well. The sight made her heart go _whoosh_ , something she wasn’t used to and _certainly_ not around Jonah Beck, not anymore. She shook the feeling away as she took the dirty clothes in her arms, adding them to the pile of laundry she needed to wash in the corner.

She began picking up the dirty clothes she’d strewn around the room the past several weeks, throwing them in the corner along with Jonah’s outfit. Jonah did the exact opposite of helping, however, instead flopping down face-first on her bed. “What are you doing?” she questioned.

He lifted his head up ever so slightly. “Waiting for you to be done,” he said before plopping himself back down on her comforter.

Buffy rolled her eyes, picking up empty water bottles and candy wrappers off the ground and sticking them on top of her already-overflowing trash can. “You could help, you know.”

There was nothing but a muffled groan coming from her bed. She rolled her eyes again, stooping down to pick up a misplaced sock from under her rug and adding it to the dirty pile. “Come on, Jonah. We’ll get done faster. Besides, I _still_ have to get a shower.”

He rolled over on his side. “ _Buffy,_ ” he whined. “I already helped you make cookies.”

“Which you offered to do,” she reminded him. He pouted at her from the bed, and a small part of her felt like she’d won. “It won’t take that long if you help me, and that way we won’t be scrambling to get out the door.”

He groaned again, and this time, Buffy knew that she had got him. “Fine,” he sighed, stretching out a hand. “Help me up.”

She knew for a _fact_ he didn’t need help getting up, that he was surprisingly athletic for someone who religiously _only_ played frisbee, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him up anyway, a flurry of butterflies stirring in her stomach as she did so. “All right, what do you need me to do?” His sigh sounded more whiny than defeated at this point, so she took that as a good sign.

Buffy scanned the room. All of her dirty laundry was in a pile now, sans a few missing socks strewn around the room, her trash can was practically spilling over, and her bed was a wrinkled, unkempt mess. “I’ll put my laundry in the washer and you can empty the trash.”

She didn’t wait around to listen to his whining and complaining, instead grabbing her dirty clothes and taking them to the laundry room. Opening the washer lid, she dumped everything inside the machine before dropping in some Tide detergent tablets. As she closed the lid and pressed start, the washer whirred to life, humming comfortably as she made her way back to her room.

The trash can was emptied by the time she came back, a fresh bag inside it as well. “How’d you know where the trash bags were?” she asked in confusion.

Jonah glanced up at her from where he was standing next to her desk. “My mom keeps them under the sink, too. I figured I’d look there.”

“Oh,” she said, the single word coming out in a bundle of surprise. Who knew that Jonah Beck had good ideas sometimes? Certainly not Buffy. “Anyway, now that _that’s_ done, we can make the bed.”

Jonah shrugged simply as they moved to either side of her bed and stripped the blankets and pillows off. She didn’t bother taking off the sheets; she’d changed them fairly recently, if only because she’d eaten cheese puffs in her bed and gotten cheese dust everywhere. She picked her blanket up off the floor, both her and Jonah taking opposite corners and layering it over the bed.

Once they added the pillows, Jonah threw himself full force on the mattress again, lounging across it and wrinkling the blankets. “We didn’t make my bed _just_ so you could ruin it again,” she said, slightly annoyed as she tried to straighten out a crinkle in the bedspread.

“Oh, come on, I’ll fix it,” he protested, rolling over on his back.

Even though she believed that he _would_ fix it, she rolled her eyes at him anyway. “I’m taking my shower,” she said, going through her closet and picking out an outfit for dinner. “The clothes in the washer should be done in a few minutes, so put them in the dryer, okay?”

He nodded, flashing that blinding smile at her as he did so. She looked away. “Don’t destroy anything,” she muttered, entering the bathroom attached to her room.

Buffy took longer than necessary to shower, making sure to scrub every smudge of flour from her face. She really didn’t want Jonah’s mom to get a bad impression from her, even if this _was_ all fake. Besides, it wasn’t like his mom knew that it wasn’t real, so Buffy decided to put in the effort to make it seem like it was, at least for contract’s sake.

She wrapped her hair in a towel and got dressed, wearing a burgundy off-the-shoulder top and her favorite pair of jeans. She ended up putting on just the smallest amount of makeup, too; she didn’t normally wear it because of how time-consuming it was and she wasn’t the best at it, anyway, but she thought maybe Jonah would appreciate the effort. That is, if he even noticed. She doubted he’d pay _that_ much attention to her, his not-at-all-real girlfriend. Pushing the thoughts away, she finished applying the mascara on her eyelashes before stepping out of the bathroom.

Jonah was still sprawled out on her bed, head resting on one of the pillows and eyes closed. His face was relaxed, his usual smile erased from his lips. He looked so peaceful lying there that Buffy almost didn’t want him to wake up.

She shut the door to the bathroom, and the noise must’ve been enough to wake him, because his eyes slowly opened and then he was looking at her. “Hey,” he said, a slow smile growing on his face as he looked her over. “You look nice.”

If Buffy said the compliment didn’t make her blush, even in the slightest, she knew it’d be a lie. “Thanks,” she said simply, trying not to let the comment faze her. Jonah Beck was nice to anyone and everyone; it shouldn’t matter to him whether or not they were fake dating because that was just how he was. “So, how much time do we have left?”

Jonah looked at the time on his phone. “About twenty minutes,” he said. “My clothes should be done by then, too.”

“Okay, cool,” she said, sitting down in her desk chair. She wanted to distance herself from him at least a little bit; the thought of both of them sitting on her bed together was...too much to even _think_ about, let alone actually do, even if it _was_ just Jonah.

They small talked until they heard a ding from the dryer, the sound declaring that their laundry was done. Buffy jumped from her seat and retrieved Jonah’s clothes from the machine, the fabric still warm by the time she gave them to Jonah. “Thanks,” he grinned before going into the bathroom to change.

He came back wearing his newly-cleaned outfit, eyes and smile bright. Not at all the way he looked only an hour ago, panicked and anxious. “You ready to go?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips.

“Just let me grab my phone,” she said. It was resting on top of a book on her nightstand; she’d set it there when they’d been cleaning and hadn’t touched it since

Jonah glanced over to where she was looking and grinned. “Here, I’ll get it,” he said, moving to grab her phone. As he did so, he picked up the book sitting there, and Buffy quickly realized what it was. It was one of her romance novels, the trashy kind from the thrift store she didn’t let anyone see.

“Jonah, we’re going to be late,” she cut in, hoping he’d put the book down and leave. Of course, he didn’t, ever so adamant on setting Buffy’s world off its axis.

“You read romance novels?” Jonah turned around, a lighthearted laugh in his voice.

She crossed her arms defensively, her eyebrows knit together. “No,” she lied, tightening her arms around her chest, which only received an eyebrow raise from Jonah. “Fine,” she huffed. “It’s mine, okay? They’re...nice to read about.”

A burst of laughter emitted from Jonah’s lips, which only made Buffy more annoyed. “It’s not funny,” she retorted, which finally seemed to do the trick, making Jonah’s laughter die out.

“You’re right, it’s not,” he cleared his throat, though there was still the hint of a smirk on his face. “It’s actually cute.”

She was surprised by his last comment, and maybe a little flustered, too, but she hid it well. “Thanks,” she muttered. “Anyway, we need to leave now or we’re going to be late.”

He set the book down back on her nightstand and nodded. “Okay, let’s go,” he smiled, handing Buffy her phone as they left the room. She tucked it into her back pocket, grabbing her keys and a few cookies from the metal sheet on the counter on their way out of the house.

They drove to Jonah’s house in silence for the most part; the drive was only about five minutes and they were both too nervous to say much of anything. As Buffy parked in the driveway, she let out a worried sigh, something she wasn’t used to. She was _always_ confident, but for whatever reason, she was scared Jonah’s mom wouldn’t like her now that she was dating Jonah, or that she’d like Amber better. She didn’t _want_ to be second-best. Buffy didn’t _settle_ for second-best. And definitely not for her boyfriend’s mom, even if it wasn’t real.

Jonah leaned over the center console and gave squeezed Buffy’s hand. She knew that this wasn’t him being a good boyfriend; there wasn’t anyone there to watch them. This was just Jonah being Jonah. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Remember, it only matters that I like you, okay?”

She nodded in agreement, letting out another little puff of breath. She _hated_ feeling like this—hated feeling unsure of herself. And all because of _Jonah Beck._ She pulled her hand away from his a second too late, both of them getting out of the car and starting up the steps to his house. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” he whispered to her as they stood in front of the door.

“I’m not,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound hard and smooth, but it came out as defensive instead. “I’m fine,” she tried again, this time sounding a little calmer. At least, it did to her, anyway. She could never be too sure about Jonah.

He gave her a smile, one that said he didn’t really believe her. “If you say so,” he grinned, taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. “You ready?”

She sucked in another breath and plastered a smile on her face. Fake smile, fake relationship. She nodded. “I guess so,” she said.

He gave her one more glance before opening the door. “Hey, Mom! We’re here!” he called out, pulling Buffy through the door before shutting it behind him.

Buffy took in her surroundings, glancing around the area. The living room was small, but cozy; a TV, couch, coffee table, and a few armchairs took up most of the space in the room, but not in a cramped way. A rug was spread out on the floor underneath the coffee table, a few family portraits and paintings hung on the walls and throw blankets adorning the chairs. It looked...nice. Lived in. Like a real home.

A tall woman with brown hair and green eyes swept into the room, face bright like a sunny day. Buffy immediately remembered how strikingly-similar she was to Jonah, how they both had an aura of light around them like they radiated sunbeams. “Buffy, it’s been a while,” she smiled politely. Even though she was so full of warmth and sunshine, Buffy thought she detected a little...was it coldness?

“Yeah, it sure has,” Buffy replied, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. She felt Jonah squeeze her hand, the small gesture comforting her all on its own. “It’s great to see you again. And I’m really glad I’m dating your son.” She silently cringed at herself for the words, but she knew Jonah would appreciate the effort. She spared him a glance (ignoring the goofy smile on his face because she _knew_ focusing on that would throw her off her game) and added, “I’m very lucky to be his...girlfriend.”

Jonah’s mom seemed to consider them for a moment, eyes calculating instead of warm, before giving them a nod, and ultimately a bright smile. “You both seem very happy,” she observed, giving Jonah a squeeze on the shoulder. “And I hope you’re hungry because I made a _lot_ of food.”

Buffy and Jonah laughed at that, smiling at each other as they did so, and she felt the heavy weight on her chest dissipate. Maybe things would be more smooth sailing from here. Maybe Jonah’s mom actually liked her—

“Jonah, go set the table while I talk to Buffy here,” Jonah’s mom smiled, patting Buffy’s arm. Almost as quickly as it had gone, the weight on Buffy’s chest restored itself to its original state, the burden of it sharp and prominent like pins and needles.

Jonah gave Buffy a look, one that asked, _Will you be okay?_ Buffy appreciated his concern, giving him a nod she didn’t really mean. _Yes_ , her eyes plored. He gave her one more fleeting look before heading to what she assumed to be the kitchen.

Buffy managed a meek smile as she turned to face Jonah’s mom. “So, um, what did you want to talk about?” she asked. She tried to make her voice sound casual, _anything_ to make her seem more confident than she was, which was not at all. She didn’t like this feeling of uncertainty; this was completely new territory for her, and she didn’t like it one bit.

She gestured to one of the armchairs with a kind smile, and Buffy sat down across from her in one. It was cozy and homey, the exact opposite of the way Buffy felt. She felt stiff and cold and like she didn’t belong, if anything. “I wanted to talk to you about your relationship with my son,” she explained. Her face was kind, but it did nothing to reassure the uneasy feeling in Buffy’s chest. “I know things...ended badly between him and your friends a few years ago. I don’t know _what_ exactly happened then, but I _do_ know Jonah was very upset about it. I just...want to make sure he won’t get hurt again.”

Long gone was the fearful feeling in Buffy’s chest; it was now replaced by one of burning anger. Did she really think that _Buffy_ was the one who had ended their friendship? That she’d been the cause for all of this? That _she_ hurt _Jonah_? “You’re right,” Buffy said, the anger boiling up in her chest. She wanted to say, _You don’t know what happened_. She wanted to say, _It was Jonah’s fault we stopped being friends_. She wanted to say, _If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have chosen someone else over him, not in a million years_. What she actually said was, “You’re right to be worried about your son. But that was a long time ago. I wouldn’t _dream_ of hurting Jonah.” _Not the way he hurt us._

“I’m glad,” she smiled, reaching across the small space to pat Buffy on the hand. But it did nothing to dissipate the anger in her chest. She thought she’d been over it, all of it—or at least, mostly—but she wasn’t. _Let it go_ , she reminded herself, taking a breath.

“Me too,” Buffy responded, accepting the touch no matter how angry she was. She didn’t like that Jonah’s mom had a bad perception of her, that she didn’t know the whole truth and that Buffy couldn’t tell it. Most of all, she hated being mad at Jonah still even though she’d thought she’d been mostly over everything that happened eighth grade year. She didn’t want to be mad at him anymore.

Jonah’s mom stood up, gesturing for her to do the same. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s eat. I hope you like lasagna!”

Buffy stood up, forcing a weak smile on her face. “Yum,” she managed to say before following her into the kitchen.

The kitchen was painted a happy, sunshine yellow, something that didn’t surprise Buffy in the slightest from what she knew about Jonah and his mom. A small, rectangular dining table sat off of the kitchen, four wooden chairs placed neatly around it. Jonah was setting down the last of the silverware when they entered, his face brightening at seeing them. Immediately, Buffy felt guilty for being so _angry_ about something that had happened so long ago, but that didn’t change the fact that she was still mad, no matter how much she wished she wasn’t. “Here, sit down,” Jonah smiled softly, pulling out a chair for her. Stifling the anger she felt, she beamed at him and sat down, making sure to look at him like he was her whole world. That part wasn’t so hard to play, even if she _was_ upset. “You okay?” he whispered. She felt him take her hand from under the table, rubbing hers with his thumb. This wasn’t for show; he was actually concerned.

She smiled back, nodding at him. She owed him this, no matter how she felt at the moment. “Never better,” she replied. She squeezed his hand, lingering on his for a second before letting go. “And this looks delicious,” she told Jonah’s mom, glancing at the array of food on the small table. She’d made a huge pan of lasagna, a big bowl of spinach salad, and a tray of cheesy breadsticks.

“Thank you,” Jonah’s mom smiled. “Jonah wanted me to go all out for you. He was really nervous about you coming over.”

The comment made Buffy smile despite herself. Jonah had played it off like his mom wanted to make a big deal over dinner, but it had really been him. She glanced over at Jonah, a look of embarrassment plain on his face as she said, “Well, it looks like he had no reason to be nervous.” Jonah gave her a look that said, _Thank you._  

She pretended she didn’t see it, instead smiling at Jonah’s mom as she placed a square of lasagna on each of their plates.

Dinner went well for the most part. Sometimes Buffy wondered if she laughed a little too loud, or if she’d offended Jonah’s mom by not eating a second helping of lasagna, or worried that their relationship wasn’t believable enough, but then Jonah would squeeze her hand whenever he noticed she was tense and it reassured her just enough to keep playing the part. That was until she remembered how mad she was at him, and then she’d feel guilty for being mad, and it was an endless cycle of emotion that just wouldn’t stop.

About an hour later, Buffy and Jonah got up from the table and pushed their chairs in. “Thank you so much for dinner,” Buffy said as Jonah’s mom pulled her into a hug. She wasn’t used to the feeling of it, especially coming from a mother, but she hugged her back for a few seconds before letting go.

“Of course,” she smiled. “Hopefully, I’ll see you sooner rather than later. Make sure Jonah brings you by more than once a month.”

Buffy laughed, ignoring the implications of the "sooner rather than later" comment. “I will,” she promised. Jonah put his hand on the small of her back, making her shiver.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

She looked at him quizzically. “Aren’t you staying here? I drove, remember?”

“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I can walk back, it’s only a few minutes,” he said. She wanted to protest, to tell him to stay, but she saw the pleading look on his face and Jonah’s mom watching them so she accepted his offer. “Okay, if you’re sure,” she said, forcing a smile. She turned to his mom. “Again, thank you for everything.”

Jonah’s mom gave them one last smile as they headed out the door, Jonah’s hand still on her back. As soon as the door closed behind them, she pulled away from him. “Are you okay?” he questioned. “You seem tense.”

There was a pause of silence between them as they made their way down the steps. Then Buffy spoke: “Your mom thinks _I’m_ the reason we stopped being friends in middle school.”

She saw Jonah frown out of the corner of her eye. “You know I didn’t tell her that, right? What happened was because of me, no one else. Well, maybe Amber, too, but that’s not the point.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. _So noble_. “It’s not even just that,” she explained. They were standing in front of her car now, her hand on the driver’s side handle. “Ever since we started this fake dating thing, I thought I was over all that stuff that happened. I mean, it helped...being your friend again. But I guess I’m not as over it as I thought.” Jonah turned away from her as she said, “And I want to be, but it’s hard when I _still_ don’t have a good explanation for what happened back then.” She stared at him, eyes boring into his head, until he finally looked back at her.

“I _promise_ I’ll give you an explanation. I _know_...things didn’t end exactly the best, but...can we not talk about this tonight?” he asked hopefully.

She frowned, hand clutching the door handle. “Why not?” In her opinion, it was better to just get it over with no matter how painful it was, but apparently Jonah didn’t share the same sentiment.

“I just...tonight was going so well, even before dinner,” he admitted. “I want it to last for a little while longer. Please?”

She let out a sigh. A month ago, she would’ve shaken her head at him. A month ago, she would’ve stormed off. A month ago, the idea of forgiving Jonah still would’ve been laughable. But this wasn’t a month ago. Things were different now...different in a good way, no matter how much she didn’t want to admit it. “Okay,” she agreed after a moment, the fight in her gone. “Let’s go. It’s getting late.”

The smile made its way back on Jonah’s face so easily, it was like it had never gone. “Let me drive,” he offered.

Buffy sighed again, giving him a nod. It was ridiculous how defenseless she was against him sometimes. “Fine,” she said, the ghost of a smile forming on her lips.

Jonah got in the driver’s side seat and Buffy got in next to him, making for one of those rare moments that Jonah drove them around. As he started up the car, he turned to her with a goofy smile. “You’re almost out of gas.”

She didn’t know what _he_ had to smile about; the reason she was out of gas was probably because of her having to tote him around everywhere. “Let’s go get gas then,” she said.

The nearest Shell station was about ten minutes out of their way, the white light gleaming in the darkness like a beacon. As Buffy fished her emergency twenty out of her wallet, Jonah stopped her. “Here, I’ve got this,” he said, putting a hand on her arm.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

He nodded, certainty clear on his face. “I mean, you always pick me up and take me home and stuff. I should at least pay for gas, right?”

She shrugged and gave him a nod, putting her wallet back in the glovebox where she kept it. “If you insist,” she teased.

They both got out of the car and made their way to the building. Jonah held one of the double doors open for Buffy, which she accepted with a snort and a smirk as she made her way to the counter and paid for gas. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jonah casually making his way to the back of the building, so she followed him as soon as she was done.

At the very back corner of the gas station was a slushie machine, the kind that had all different sorts of flavors to choose from. Jonah had grabbed the biggest cup he could find, eyes scanning over the different kinds of slushies. “What are you doing?” Buffy asked, raising an eyebrow at Jonah.

He didn’t seem too startled, though he was clearly surprised that she’d followed him. “I’m getting a slushie,” he answered matter-of-factly, still glancing over the different flavors. It had more than just the two kinds most machines had: red and blue. It had a variety of fruit and even soda flavors, which she balked at. “Which kind do you want?” he asked.

She frowned. “What are you talking about? I only came back here because of you.”

He rolled his eyes playfully at her, like it was obvious. “We’re sharing one,” he said, gesturing to the giant styrofoam cup. “I was going to get us each our own slushie, but I only had enough change for one, so we’re sharing.”

She glanced over the flavors, as if this was normal for the two of them. “None of the soda slushies, I’ll tell you that much,” she said.

Jonah wrinkled his nose. “Please. I’m not an animal.” That left only about five flavors, the fruity ones. _Cherry, blueberry, lemonade, lime_ — “How about grape?” Jonah asked abruptly, looking like a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

Buffy stared blankly at him, the memory of her letter running through her mind. _You were just Jonah, the person I would share grape popsicles with at lunch because no one else liked them_ —

She wondered if he’d suggested grape on purpose, if it still meant the same thing to him that it did to her. If it did, he didn’t offer any indication, so she shrugged it off. “Yeah. Grape is...good.”

“Dosh!” he exclaimed, then realized what he’d said. “I mean, sweet!” She rolled her eyes, watching with a smile as he filled their cup up with grape slushie.

Silently, Buffy put a lid on their cup and grabbed a straw. “Need anything else?” Jonah asked.

She shook her head distractedly. She’d been trying to decide what was brighter: the fluorescent lights hanging above them or Jonah’s smile. “I’m good,” she said, a smile in her voice. Jonah beamed at her before making his way to the check-out counter, paying for their slushie before they both left the station.

Jonah insisted on pumping the gas for her—clearly harboring _some_ guilt about their earlier conversation—so she let him, setting their slushie down on the center console. Once Jonah got back in the car, he smiled and buckled his seatbelt, turning the ignition on as he leaned over and took a sip from the styrofoam cup. “Here,” he grinned, pushing the slushie towards her.

She picked it up, feeling the iciness seep through the cup. She stared at it for a moment; she had a weird thing about sharing drinks, but she figured it was stupid to say so considering they’d already kissed. Hesitantly, she put the straw to her mouth and sipped; as the grape flooded her tongue, it reminded her of all those popsicles they’d shared at lunch everyday in middle school. The memory of it made her feel warm despite the frostiness of the drink. “How is it?” Jonah beamed, glancing between her and the side-view mirrors as he pulled out of the gas station.

She wanted to say, _It tastes like home_ , but thought it sounded stupid and cheesy and so unlike her that she didn’t. “Good,” she replied. “Not at all like actual grapes, though.” The slushie flavoring had more of a syrupy flavoring, the kind that made the back of her throat hurt after a while from the sweetness of it.

“You’re right,” Jonah grinned toothily. “It’s better.”

They spent their trip back to Buffy’s house talking about random things, only taking a break to take a sip of their slushie. Between passing the cup back and forth, their hands kept bumping into each other, something Buffy found herself not really minding besides her initial annoyance. At some point, it seemed to become a competition between them to see who could take the biggest sip. “Okay, you win,” Jonah said after Buffy took a huge gulp, ripping the cup out of her hands.

“Hey, I wasn’t done,” she protested, swallowing the icy grape slushie. She ended up getting brain freeze from it, and she groaned as she leaned her head against the car window.

“Sure you weren’t,” Jonah smarted. Buffy couldn’t do much but roll her eyes as she waited for her brain freeze to pass, leaning against the window and smiling as she watched Jonah.

A few minutes later, he was pulling up to her house, parking along the curb. The kitchen light was on and her dad’s truck was in the driveway. “Here,” Jonah said, passing her the slushie. “You can have the rest.”

She took a drink before pushing it back to him. “The point is we’re supposed to share it, remember?” she asked.

“Your dad’s home,” Jonah pointed out.

Buffy shrugged. “So?”

“So,” he started, pausing as he sucked on the straw, “he’s probably waiting for you to come in.” She raised an eyebrow. He turned away from her, cheeks flushed as he said. “He’ll think we’re making out or something.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Buffy said, then stifled a laugh. “Trust me, my dad’s not like that. Besides, I want this to last a little longer,” she added, echoing Jonah’s words from earlier.

He smiled at her, and there was a moment where their eyes stayed locked on each other’s, still and unmoving, as if they were trying to analyze every feature of the other pair. _I saw your beautiful eyes; up close, your eyes aren’t so much green eyes as ocean eyes. Not because they’re more blue than green, but because you get lost in them_ — “I was wrong,” Buffy suddenly blurted out.

She watched as Jonah’s face shifted from a smile to confusion like it so often did, eyebrows curling in on themselves. “Wrong about what?” he asked, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. The dimples in his cheeks were showing, making Buffy’s face feel flushed.

She stared at him for a moment, deciding if she should tell him. What if he laughed at her or thought it was stupid? Or what if he thought it was something a fake girlfriend shouldn’t say to her fake boyfriend (because it definitely wasn't?) But she caught his eyes glittering with curiosity and maybe a little amusement and she finally said, “Your eyes. They aren’t _just_ like oceans.” She sucked in a breath, the cool air ghosting past her lips. “They’re also like...like galaxies. Like shooting stars.” She watched his face morph into surprise, mouth forming a little ‘O,’ and she wondered if she’d said too much. So she didn’t say how they _also_ reminded her of the aurora borealis she saw in Norway with her parents when she was eight, or how they looked like the green embers of a campfire slowly fading out. Instead, she just didn’t say anything, scared of the words she’d said and the ones she didn’t.

“Buffy,” Jonah whispered, and she swore it was the softest she’d ever heard his voice. Then his mouth broke from its shape of surprise, a smile overtaking his whole face and reaching those green eyes of his. Her heart bloomed with relief; she’d _never_ opened up about something like that outside of the letters, never even imagined voicing those thoughts that seemed to course through her brain about the boys she’d loved.

A part of her, the voice in the back of her head, wondered if it was because of Jonah. If he somehow brought that out of her, brought out that ability to open up about the feelings she’d tucked away in the letters for so long. The thought was here and then gone, somehow sounding as insane as it did logical.

 _No_. She would _not_ let herself fall back in love with Jonah Beck. This was fake, purely business, and in just a few months, weeks even, things would go back to normal. She’d stop giving him rides, he’d stop leaving notes in her locker, and they’d wave to each other in the hallway every once in a while. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

A month ago, that would’ve been an easy reminder. One that she wouldn’t have had to tell herself twice. But now—sitting in her car with Jonah under the night sky, the hint of grape slushie on her lips—it was a small fact she glossed over, like rereading the same page of a textbook over and over but not retaining any of the information.

Abruptly, Buffy cleared her throat, throwing her head in the direction of her house. “It’s getting late. I should probably head inside.”

Jonah blinked, like he’d been broken from a trance. “I’m sure my mom’s waiting on me, too,” he laughed nervously. He leaned back in his seat, and it was in that moment that Buffy realized how close they’d just been mere seconds ago.

They kept their gaze on each other for a few more seconds before Jonah slipped the cup in her hand. “But seriously, you should take the rest. You deserve it after coming to dinner with me and everything.”

She wanted to protest, tell him that she’d spent well over half the evening mad at him, tell him that he more than deserved it after helping her when he didn’t have to, but she knew her dad was waiting on her and if she argued with Jonah, they’d be there all night. “Thank you,” she said, both of them getting out of the car.

He beamed at her, making her heart do an involuntary somersault. He gave away those smiles like they were nothing, but little did he know just how much she savored each one. “I’ll walk you up. You know, in case your dad’s watching or something.”

Buffy nodded in agreement and accepted his offer, even though she knew her dad was probably in the kitchen sneaking the cookies she’d made him for his birthday. “Okay.”

Silently, they walked to the door, hands hovering dangerously close together; it shouldn’t have felt as weird as it did since they held hands all the time, but it was more like they _should’ve_ been holding hands and they weren’t. Buffy pushed this thought aside, trying and failing again to get her feelings in check. She’d already written Jonah Beck one letter; she didn’t need to write him another.

They stood on the porch, neither of them really wanting to say goodnight quite yet. Buffy said it first, knowing that if _she_ didn’t, they may have been there all night. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay?” Her stomach felt like it was twisted in knots, a feeling she wasn’t accustomed to anymore, hadn’t since the summer before ninth grade when she’d written Walker’s letter.

He gave her a bob of his head. “Goodnight, Buffy Driscoll,” Jonah smiled, his voice the same kind of soft it’d been in the car.

Her heart felt like it’d gone gooey in the center at the words. “Goodnight,” she near-whispered, clutching the styrofoam cup in her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the door handle. She gave him one last glance, her eyes lingering on his for a few seconds longer than they should’ve before twisting the knob and opening the door.

Buffy’s dad was sitting on the couch when she stepped inside the house, a plate of cookies on his lap as he watched a sitcom on TV. Immediately, he made a move to hide the cookies, but it was no use. “I promise you, this isn’t what it looks like,” her dad protested, setting his plate down on the coffee table.

Buffy rolled her eyes, sitting down on the arm of the couch. “Really? Because it _looks_ like you’ve been eating your birthday cookies _before_ your birthday.”

“Oh, what’s a couple hours difference make,” he said, shooing the air dismissively. Buffy let out a laugh. “Anyway, enough about me. Where’ve you been all night?”

She played with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to be nonchalant. “I went to Jonah’s for dinner. You know, typical boyfriend stuff.”

He laughed. “Is it? I wouldn’t know.” He paused to take a bite of one of his cookies before asking, “So, when will I meet this boyfriend of yours? It feels like you’re hiding him from me or something.” There was a playful smile on his face, but that didn’t make the uneasy feeling in Buffy’s chest lessen.

“Soon, I promise. I’m sure he’ll want to know that you liked his cookies so much,” she teased.

He gave her a questioning look. “I thought you made these?”

“We both did. And be glad, otherwise you probably wouldn’t be eating them right now,” she joked. She got up from the couch, stretching her arms and legs. “I’m going to bed. Don’t eat anymore cookies or you won’t have any at the office tomorrow!”

“I won’t,” her dad replied, but she already knew he wouldn’t listen to her. Smiling, she went to her room and shut the door.

As Buffy turned on the light, she nearly did a double-take at how clean her room was. Everything was in its rightful place—all except for the clothes she’d let Jonah borrow while his were getting cleaned. She picked up the black shirt off her bed, the fabric faintly smelling like him.

After a moment, Buffy set down the almost empty slushie cup, her phone, and her keys before tugging off her dinner outfit and throwing on the black shirt and grey basketball shorts Jonah had worn a few hours ago. She told herself it was because she didn’t want to let a perfectly good outfit go to waste, but deep down, she knew she had a _much_ different reason. She sucked down the remains of the grape slushie before brushing her teeth and throwing the empty cup and her dirty clothes in the hamper. She hadn’t cleaned her room just to dirty it back up again, that was for sure.

Buffy turned off the light and crawled into bed, falling asleep with Jonah’s faint scent clouding her normally-clear thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

A month into their fake relationship, sitting on the same side of the lunch table was still done more out of convenience than necessity. Jonah said that all couples sat next to each other. Buffy did not care enough to argue, as long as he didn’t steal all the fries from her tray. She had gotten used to swapping napkins and pieces of fruit with him, like they had always done this and would always do this. And whenever Jonah swiped a fry from her tray, she would shoot him a glare, and he would smile that stupid, brilliant, heart-wrecking smile. She never won those silent arguments, though she won everything else.  

On this particular Thursday, a week into October, they arrived at the lunch table before the rest of their crew. Which was surprising, given that Walker had class closest to the cafeteria, but Buffy brushed it off on the long line to the register.

“Hey, can you drive my car home today? I’m leaving school early for the meet.” Buffy peeled a piece of pepperoni from her pizza, popping it into her mouth.

Jonah made a face, nose all scrunched up and eyebrows drawn together. He looked like a petulant child, and Buffy tried her best not to laugh. (Well, she didn’t try _that_ much.) “Meet? What meet?”

She rolled her eyes, stealing a grape from his tray. “Jonah, I told you last week that my first track meet was today. How could you forget?” It was easy, actually, for him to forget. All Jonah seemed to remember was how to smile in a way that melted everyone’s hearts and play Ultimate Frisbee.

“I’m sorry,” he said, knocking his shoulder against hers, “I’ll remember next time.” Buffy snorted, a quick rush of air through her nose. He frowned. “What? You don’t think I will?”

“I _know_ you won’t,” Buffy countered.

“Send me the address.”

“What, to the meet? You don’t have to go. We only agreed on basketball games and frisbee meets.”

Jonah shrugged, barely lifting a shoulder. “Yeah, I know. But I want to be there.”

Buffy smiled at this, the corners of her lips tilting up just the tiniest bit. “Okay,” she said. “I will.”

* * *

The track meet was in the neighboring town, which was to say it was thirty minutes away. The school bus the team took was filled with noise, loud conversations held by teammates who had been competing together for the last four years. Buffy felt slightly out of place, and part of her wished that she had never allowed her dad to take her off the track team back in middle school. Regardless, she plugged her earbuds into her phone, clicked through a Spotify playlist Jonah had sent her the week before, and leaned her head against the window, letting the lull of the bus driving down the highway calm her pre-competition nerves.

They arrived at the track field ten minutes early, everyone on the team filing off the bus and heading to the locker rooms. Buffy changed out quickly, leaving the room in order to head out to the track. She scanned the crowd, catching sight of Jonah across the grass. She waved him over, the smile on her face faltering when she saw the way his face seemed to be set in a scowl. When he reached her, she took his hand, a habit and a precaution. “Are you okay?”

“Who’s that kid who keeps staring at you?” His voice was sharp in a way Buffy wasn’t used to. He sounded upset, and she had no idea why.

“What? What kid?” She looked around, not seeing anyone else even remotely paying them attention.

“You haven’t seen him yet? He’s been staring this whole time.” Jonah pointed over to where one of the opposing teams was stretching. Buffy looked over her shoulder to where Jonah was pointing, gaze falling on a tall boy who wasn’t even looking their way. He was staring off to the side, eyebrows drawn together in a way that made it look like he was trying to figure out some complicated equation. He looked familiar, Buffy did have to admit that. Maybe it was the way his hair was gelled, or the curve of his nose that she’d seen somewhere. Did he—

“Oh my God.” The realization dawned in an overwhelming wave. Of course Buffy had seen the other boy before. She’d spent nearly a whole semester pining after him. Even though it had been years since she’d seen him, he still looked the same. Well, relatively the same, anyway. “Jonah, that’s Marty.”

Jonah frowned, stepping closer to her. “Who the heck is Martin?”

Buffy rolled her eyes, reached up to tie her hair back into a ponytail. “ _Marty_. He went to middle school with us. He moved to California with his dad in eighth grade. I wonder what he’s doing back here.”

“Eyeing my girlfriend is what he’s doing.”  

Buffy laughed, less joyful and more mocking. “Jonah, come on, I doubt he even remembers who I am.” Evidently, this was the incorrect thing to say, because his already dark expression turned positively stormy. Buffy reached over, tugging him close. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, and even though this was an act Buffy had played more than once, it still made her pulse race. _Why_ did he make her feel that way? Fake things weren’t supposed to make real people feel all… _screwy_. “Everyone can tell that we’re dating, okay? You’re fine.” She did not know why she was trying to console him. This was _fake_ , after all. Maybe it was more to console herself.

Jonah was still grumpy, but he’d at least stopped glaring towards Marty. Buffy counted this as a win. “I have to go, okay? I’m up first.” She gave his hand one last squeeze before heading over to where her team was gathering. If she cast a handful of glances between Jonah and Marty before starting the race, no one had to know.

* * *

Buffy won her first race by a whole second. Jonah stood off to the side, cheering for her like any good boyfriend would do. She convinced herself that the butterfly flutter of her heart picking up was more due to the race and less due to Jonah cheering her on. She was not set to compete in another race for another twenty minutes, so she left the track to join Jonah on the sidelines again. He handed her the water bottle from her bag, settling down in the grass beside her while she stretched.

“I texted Nat about your win,” Jonah said, plucking grass from the ground and peeling the strands apart. “She wants to go for pizza to celebrate.”

Buffy beamed, the glow left over from her win bubbling up. “Is the rest of the team going?” She assumed they were, since hanging out with Natalie and Jonah always resulted in at least half of the Ultimate Frisbee team tagging along. They weren’t terrible company, Buffy had decided after the first few times she’d hung out with them. Just different. Not her usual crowd, her usual crowd being Andi, Cyrus, and Walker.

Jonah nodded, taking his phone out of his pocket to send off a text. He dropped it onto the ground between them when he was done, reaching over to take Buffy’s hand instead. Buffy looked over at him, confused for all of a moment before someone cleared their throat above them. She turned her attention skyward, squinting against the sun shining behind the person. Marty’s face came into focus, and Buffy was once again shocked by the piece of metal through his eyebrow. Back in middle school, when they used to talk, she never would have seen him doing something so permanent. It seemed to fit him now, though.

“Hey, Buffy. Long time no see.” This was an understatement, because the last time Buffy had seen him, they were in eighth grade and always competing against each other. All things considered, not much had changed beyond the fact that he was now at least a full head taller than Buffy. This only annoyed her a little bit.

“Marty!” She couldn’t help the smile that pulled at her lips. Standing up, she let herself be pulled into a quick hug, falling back to lean on Jonah once Marty let go. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. Well, good-ish, I guess.” Marty explained how he moved back in with his mom over the summer, because he and his father had gotten into some argument that they couldn’t seem to solve. He did not mention the letter Buffy wrote him once. She hoped this meant that his got lost in the mail and never made it into his hands. The longer he stood there, talking to Buffy, the clingier Jonah seemed to get, leaning on her or resting his head on her shoulder from behind. Buffy looked over at him, a quick glance that looked like she was happy from the outside, but Jonah could tell it really meant she was annoyed.

When Buffy finally introduced Jonah as her _boyfriend_ (as if it hadn’t already been obvious enough), Marty’s gaze faltered. He glanced from her face down to where she was holding hands with Jonah, their intertwined fingers resting against the curve of her hip. “It’s nice to meet you. Again.” He extended a hand for Jonah to shake, but the other boy didn’t return the favor. Awkwardly, Marty took a step back, dropping his hand. “Well, I should get back to my team, but we should catch up sometime.”

Buffy agreed, letting go of Jonah’s hand long enough to fish her cellphone out of her pocket. Marty typed his number in, sending himself a text so that he could save Buffy’s number after the meet. They parted ways, but even after Marty had disappeared back into the crowd, Jonah still hung on to Buffy. She reached down, actually having to pry his hands off of her hips. Wheeling around, she leveled a glare at him. “Jonah, what was _that_?”

“What was what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jonah tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, feigning oblivious.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t know. You were being weirdly clingy the entire time Marty was over here, and you didn’t even shake his hand. He’s just trying to reconnect with people.”

Jonah mumbled something underneath his breath, gaze cast away from Buffy and over her shoulder.

“What did you just say?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Your team is calling you over.” This had to be him shutting her out, Buffy knew this. But she could not for the life of her figure out why he was behaving like a possessive three-year-old.

“Whatever. Did you forget that this was all fake?” Buffy grabbed her bag from the ground and dropped her phone into it before slinging it over her shoulder. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I have to go.” And she left.

* * *

After the meet, Mr. Driscoll was waiting for Buffy when she left the locker room. “Hey, Buff. You ready to go?”

Buffy fell into step with him, tugging the zipper on her jacket up. “Oh, actually, Jonah’s taking me out for pizza with some of our friends. He told them about my races and they want to celebrate. Is that okay?”

“Sure.” Her dad took the car key out of his pocket, hitting the button to unlock his truck a few yards away. “Be back by nine, it’s a school night.”

She nodded, hugging him goodbye before going to find Jonah. He was leaning against his car when she walked up, flipping the key in the air and then catching it. He did this over and over, keeping his eyes on the key rather than on Buffy while she walked up to him. He still seemed upset, but Buffy was in no mood to deal with it at the moment. “You ready?”

He glanced over at her, key caught in his palm. “Are you?”

She frowned, just a little, barely a tilt of one side of her mouth. She tugged open the passenger side door, falling into the cracked leather seat. Jonah climbed into the driver’s seat, sticking the key into the engine and kicking the car to life. The engine sputtered, sputtered, sputtered, before turning over finally. He put the car into reverse and backed out of the parking space, tearing out of the lot quicker than he probably should have.

They drove in silence for a while, the windows rolled down even though it was getting too cold for that. Buffy asked if she could turn on the radio, and when Jonah didn’t answer, she reached over and fiddled with the dial until it landed on a station that wasn’t airwaves and static. More silence, filled only by the hum of the Challenger’s engine, the radio which cut out every few miles, and the wind.

Eventually, after minutes that felt like hours, Buffy cracked. “Jonah, what’s wrong?” She tried not to sound too exasperated, but it was hard considering he’d been standoffish since even before she’d arrived.

He did not answer, eyes on the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift. The sky overhead shifted, bending to the mood in the car. The clouds grew dark grey, the promise of a storm brewing. Buffy felt like lightning was going to strike the car at any moment. “Jonah?”

“That’s why you didn’t want me at the meet.” He still wouldn’t look her way. The dread that was sitting in Buffy’s stomach grew.

“What? What are you talking about?” Buffy shifted in her seat, the silence between them leaving the atmosphere feeling stilted. “Come on, Jonah. Actually _talking_ might work better than ignoring me.”

His voice was quiet, sounding more hurt than anything else. “Don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

The comment was meant to hurt, Buffy knew that. And it did. It _did_ , because she wasn’t playing dumb, would never play dumb, and just wanted to know what he was so mad about. Where did they go wrong? “Jonah, what are you even _talking_ about? Why are you so upset?”

Jonah shifted his eyes towards her, the dread growing in Buffy’s stomach turning on its head. “Why didn’t just tell me the truth about why you didn’t want me to go to your meet? All this talk about it not being in the contract? You should have just told me you didn’t want me to go because you wanted to talk to Martin or Marvin or _whatever_ his name is without me there.”

And _oh_ , that was what all of this was about. A huge, stupid, boy misunderstanding. “Marty? Are you talking about Marty?” Lightning flashed in the sky miles away, and a clap of thunder followed moments later. The sky grew darker in seconds, splitting open and dumping rain in fat drops. Jonah rolled up the windows quickly, letting a gush of hot air escape his lungs. He did not look at Buffy again. “ _J_ _onah_. Are you really _that_ mad about Marty?”

When he finally spoke again, his voice was still cutting. “Yes! Of _course_ this is about Marcus! Without me there, you wouldn’t have to pretend that we’re dating and you could flirt with him all you wanted.”

Buffy laughed humorlessly. “Oh, _come on._  You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m _not_.”

“Jonah, I didn’t know he was going to be at the meet. I didn’t even know he was back in town.”

He just shook his head, eyes unwavering from the stretch of road ahead. “Jonah, I’m serious.” Again, he didn’t say anything. She shifted again in her seat, just enough to see his mouth pressed into a firm line. “Are you really going to make me explain myself? When you _know_ I didn’t do anything wrong?” She hoped her voice didn’t sound as defeated and pleading in Jonah’s ears at it did in her own. She hoped it didn’t sound as weak and vulnerable as she felt in that moment.

“Whatever. I’m not upset anymore. Just forget it,” he said, but it was all wrong. He was still pursing his lips, still refusing to look at her. His hands were still clenched too tight to the steering wheel.

“Right. Whatever,” Buffy echoed. She slumped down in her seat, making a point to stare out the window with her back turned. If he was going to ignore her, she was going to ignore him right back.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride.

* * *

They were both still seething when they arrived at the pizza parlor. The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding against the roof so hard that it drowned out the engine’s growl. Buffy unbuckled her seatbelt, climbing out of the car. Jonah grabbed her hand on instinct, more concerned about keeping up appearances than whether or not Buffy would snap at him again.

Their group of friends sat at the back of the parlor, multiple square wooden tables pushed together to make room for everyone. Immediately, Jonah forced a smile onto his face, looking infinitely more relaxed than he felt. Buffy hated how good he was at pretending everything was okay. She hated how easy it was for him to look like they hadn’t been fighting just minutes before. Maybe she just hated Jonah, a thought that came and went so quickly that she knew it wasn’t true, but she couldn’t help but feel that way in the moment.

Sitting down at the table, Jonah sat a couple inches away from her. It did not seem like a lot from the outside, but to Buffy it felt like miles. She almost wished it were miles. Natalie passed them both a slice of pizza from the pies the group had already ordered, and Buffy took hers with a polite smile. She wondered if their friends felt the electric charge in the air as much as she did. From the sound of their laughter reverberating through the room, she doubted it.

Fifteen minutes into hanging out, Buffy excused herself to the bathroom. She locked herself in a stall, pulling up her dad’s number on speed dial and hitting _call_. It rang and rang, and Buffy found herself silently pleading with her dad to pick up.

“Buffy? Is everything okay?” Buffy wasn’t expecting the angry tears to prick at her eyes—at least, she told herself they were angry tears—and she took a deep breath before responding.

“Dad? Can you come pick me up?” She tinkered with the toilet paper roll on her left, tearing off small pieces with her fingernail. “Please?”

“What? Buff, it’s not even six yet. Didn’t you just get to the restaurant?”

“I—yes, I did. I mean, we did. I’m just not…feeling super great right now. I think I might be getting sick.”

“Oh, okay. Honey, can’t Jonah just drive you home?”

Buffy swallowed, the stress forming a knot in her throat. “I don’t want him to worry,” she said. She hoped it didn’t sound like, _We fought and he won’t even talk to me_. She hoped it didn’t sound like, _I think he hates me now_. She hoped it didn’t sound _weak_. She hated sounding weak.

A sigh stretched over the speaker. “Okay, I’ll come get you.”

“Thank you.” She hung up the phone, dabbing away the tears that had begin to dot at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. She stepped out of the stall, splashed her face with water from the sink, and stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer. She did not look like she had cried, though the edges of her eyes looked faintly red. She frowned at herself, smoothed her clothes over, and left the bathroom.

Jonah didn’t look up when she sat back down, which Natalie acknowledged with a furrow of her brow. Buffy shook her head, just slightly, enough to tell the other girl to drop it. She did, but not without a frown.

It felt like ages before her father texted her that he was sitting in the car outside. She gathered up her things, apologizing to their friends for leaving early. For the first real time the whole night, Jonah looked at her, a question in his eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, uh,” Buffy faltered, clicking her phone on and off. “My dad is here to pick me up. Family emergency.”

“What’s going on? Is he here already?”

“Yes. Yeah, he is. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, stepping back from the table. She turned away, walking towards the door with her head ducked over her phone as if she was texting her dad. She wasn’t. She was staring at her home screen, a picture she’d taken of Jonah laughing during lunch a few weeks ago and trying to force the angry tears away. If Jonah called after her, she pretended not to hear.

Climbing into the front seat of her dad’s truck, she clicked her seatbelt into place. She rested her head down on the window, thankful for the chill of the wet glass. Her father didn’t say anything for a while, but eventually he gingerly placed a hand on her knee, and suddenly she was five-years-old again. “Are you okay, Buff?”

“My stomach hurts,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. At least, not completely. Her stomach _did_ hurt, but it wasn’t because she was sick. It was because of Jonah and the stupid argument they’d had that probably wouldn’t even matter by tomorrow, but still. “I just want to go home.”

As soon as Buffy got home, she ran up to her room and closed the door. She changed into a pair of flannel pajama pants, pulled on a worn down T-shirt from freshman year, and crawled into bed. She wanted to fade away with the rain and forget that the day had ever happened. Just the memory of the past couple hours made her nails dig into her palms. Why did he have to be so _Jonah_ sometimes?

Her phone buzzed on the set of drawers by her bed, and she forced herself up onto an elbow just enough to look at the screen.

Jonah’s icon flashed up at her. She watched it ring. And ring. And ring. Buffy didn’t pick up, and she didn’t hit ignore, just let it go to voicemail. It happened twice more, and each time, she held her breath until it ended.

Laying back down, Buffy stared at her ceiling. She wondered if she’d ever stop feeling so mixed-up when it came to Jonah. She wondered if what they were doing would ever feel normal.

Her phone buzzed again. Reluctantly, she reached over and picked it up. Expecting to see a text from Jonah, she was pleasantly surprised to see Marty’s name on the screen.

From: Marty

_It was nice seeing you at the meet._

_We should get coffee sometime :)_

Buffy smiled despite herself. Before she could think better about it, she typed back a text and hit send.

From: Buffy

_I’m so glad I got to see you again! We need to go for coffee for sure. You free next week?_

From: Marty

_Would Tuesday work? 6pm?_

From: Buffy

_Yes!_

_See you Tuesday._

She plugged her phone back onto the charger, feeling decidedly less upset than she had been earlier. This was just going to be something Jonah didn’t have to know about. It wasn’t like it was going to kill him.


	10. Chapter 10

Even in the early morning hours following her fight with Jonah, Buffy was still fuming. It was a weird thing, going to bed and waking up angry without missing a beat. With a huff of breath through her nostrils, Buffy shoved her comforter off her bed and threw together an outfit for the day.

She snagged a granola bar from the kitchen on her way out, her backpack hanging off on arm and a sleeve of her jacket on the other as she tried to pull it around herself. Everything about her that morning felt frenzied and chaotic—she could see it in the hardened look in her eyes, how her eyebrows were drawn together too tight in the middle. Even the crunch of the gravel beneath her feet seemed more angry than it normally did.

It was after slamming her door and plopping down in her seat that Buffy remembered—she was supposed to pick up Jonah. She didn’t even know if their contract still applied after last night. For all she knew, their fight had been some passive-aggressive form of fake breaking-up. But even in all of the confusion and resentment and downright anger, Buffy didn’t want him to walking to school again. Especially after he’d almost gotten hit last time—specifically, by Buffy. With everything already going on with Jonah, Buffy did not have room to cry over him at his funeral.

Buffy let out a groan, as loud as she could muster, while reversing out of her driveway. The time on her dashboard read 7:49—much too late to be picking up Jonah, who tended to tiptoe on the line of punctuality. Not to mention it was too late to pick up someone she didn’t even want to _see,_ let alone drive to school.

As it turned out, that wouldn’t be much of a problem for Buffy, because when she arrived at his house and honked her horn, no one came to the door. She waited three minutes, four, then five, before honking her horn one last time (not because she thought Jonah was still inside; if anything, it was for expressing her own annoyance over the situation.) A quick glance at her dashboard told Buffy that the time was now 7:56, something that made it a struggle to stay within the speed limit on her drive to school.

Buffy arrived to school right in the middle of the morning announcements; her footsteps seemed to be louder than everything else around her—the echoing of the secretary’s voice on the overhead, the giggling of freshmen hiding in the bathrooms, the slamming of locker doors. This was probably due to the fact that she was stomping all the way to first period, her fists balled up at her sides. She couldn’t believe _Jonah Beck_ was the reason she was late; more so, she couldn’t believe he’d flaked on _her_. If anything, it should’ve been the other way around—she wished she could go back in time and bail on him first so she wouldn’t be here, walking shamefully into her US History class during the Pledge of Allegiance.

As she slumped down in her seat and crossed her arms, she decided to confront Jonah later. She was _done_ with...whatever argument they were having. The dumbest part about it was that she didn’t technically do anything wrong, and even if she had, it wasn’t like Jonah would tell her what it was.

Luckily for Buffy, opportunity struck during third period. She finished her chemistry assignment with twenty minutes of class to spare, so she turned in her worksheet and went up to Mr. Porter’s desk. “Can I go up to the front office?” she asked, making sure to smile as politely as she could manage. “I have a question for the guidance counselor about my college applications.”

Mr. Porter barely spared her a glance. “Very well,” he said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. Silently, she walked out of the room, making her way to the front office where she knew Jonah would be working that period.

As she marched to the office, she could see Jonah animatedly telling the secretary a story through one of the windows. God, he was even friends with the _office staff_. She wished she found it more annoying than she actually did, which wasn’t very much (annoyingly endearing, if anything.) With a sigh, Buffy twisted the knob on the door and pushed it open.

Jonah was still telling his story to the secretary when Buffy walked in, not seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary. She crossed her arms, listening to him rave about something that had happened with his friends that morning in an earlier class. Hearing the story made her twitch a little, nitpicking at her in a way that she knew it shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t bother her that she was the person he usually told his stupid, random stories to—it shouldn’t have stung so much that they were in such a bad place right now that he had to confide in the _secretary_ instead of her.

She pushed back the hurt, revealing the anger that had been simmering underneath. “Jonah,” she said. Her voice sounded solid and clear, contradicting the fog she felt like she’d been drifting through ever since last night. She watched his head snap up and the smile fall from his face. He stopped talking, his hands stilling; really, he’d ceased moving completely. There was a lack of rise and fall in his shoulders that suggested he was holding his breath.

Buffy was holding hers, too. “Mr. Porter needs you to make some copies for him,” she said. The lie came out easily, even though it hadn’t been premeditated. The only thing that had been on her mind the whole morning was confronting Jonah about their stupid, _stupid_ argument.

“He needs them right now?” Jonah asked, and Buffy resisted the urge to scoff. She guessed he could sense the storm brewing between them, but, really, he should have _expected_ this. Did he know Buffy _at all_? She thrived on confrontation; surely, he would’ve caught onto that by now given...well, pretty much everything about her.

“Yes. Right now,” she said, smiling through gritted teeth. Reluctantly, Jonah pushed himself off his swivel chair and moved from behind the office counter. Buffy opened the door and closed it, letting it narrowly clip Jonah in the shoulder. (She felt a twinge of remorse, though it came as quickly as it went.)

“So, does Mr. Porter actually need any copies or...?”

Buffy ignored him. She could practically feel herself becoming unhinged, the anger and frustration she’d been harboring all morning bubbling over in her chest like an unattended pot of water boiling over.

“Where were you this morning? I waited _five_ _minutes_ and you didn’t show up.” She tried to keep her anger at least _somewhat_ contained, but she’d never been the best at controlling her emotions. Her feelings were a can of gasoline sloshing around inside her, waiting for a match to set her aflame.

As it were, Jonah was that match. “I asked Amber for a ride. I thought you’d be busy with your family emergency. That’s why you left the restaurant and didn’t answer my calls last night, right?” He said it with an air of innocence, one that practically made Buffy’s insides light up like tinder.

“ _What_ is wrong with you?” she asked. “Ever since my track meet, you’ve been acting really weird. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were—”

“You’d say I was what?”

“ _Jealous,_ Jonah,” she seethed, and the word seemed to ring out between them. “I’d say you were jealous.”

He didn’t respond, seemingly dumb-founded, and Buffy crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I hope you have fun driving to school with Amber.”

She stormed off, walking back to class with her fists clenched at her sides. She heard Jonah call after her, but she refused to let herself look back at him no matter _how_ much she was itching to.

* * *

Buffy stayed in a positively stormy mood for the rest of third period and all of fourth. It was a good thing she’d completed her chemistry homework _before_ she’d confronted Jonah, because really, she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on it otherwise. All she could focus on was the fire living inside her, and all because of _Jonah Beck_. She thought the argument would’ve been over by now, but it wasn’t, and she really kind of missed him. Just a little.

It was on her way to lunch that Buffy was accosted by none other than Amber. She was holding a tube of sparkly pink lip gloss in her hand, which seemed to be on her person at least every time Buffy had seen her. She wondered callously if it was just in case she saw Jonah and needed a touch-up. As mean as the thought was, it did nothing to match what Amber was about to say to her. “Thanks for letting me give Jonah a ride this morning,” she said, batting her eyelashes a little too hard at Buffy. “I know how _hard_ that must’ve been for you, knowing our history and everything.”

The sickly-sweetness of Amber’s voice made her feel nauseous the way talking to Amber always did; she also felt a little more than tempted to smack the lip gloss right out of her painted fingernails, but she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“No problem, Amber. And don’t worry, that wasn’t even a concern for me,” she smarted, walking right past her to the cafeteria. Even though it felt like she’d won, it didn’t stop Buffy’s head from spinning. After everything that had already happened, talking to Amber was the _last_ thing she’d needed that morning.

Buffy made her way to her lunch table; all of her friends were already there, including TJ, excluding Jonah. Neither of those observations surprised her much as she sat down, slumping down in her seat and folding her arms. She didn’t even bother thinking about getting lunch; talking to Amber had completely deprived her of her appetite.

“What’s got you in such a mood?” TJ asked across from her, sounding as amused as ever. If it had been anyone else, Buffy probably would’ve snapped at them, but it was TJ and that was just how their relationship was, so she didn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, letting out an annoyed sigh.

Cyrus frowned in his spot beside TJ. “Where’s Jonah?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I don’t want to talk about.”

Andi nudged her in the side. She almost thought it was Jonah for a second, because it came from the direction that he usually sat, but she looked up and she was brought back into reality. “Come on, Buffy. We’re your best friends. That’s what we’re here for, to talk about the stuff you don’t want to talk about.”

She really had to admit that Andi had a point, so with a grudging sigh, she told them. She explained what had happened at her meet and how Marty was back in town and told them all about her fight with Jonah, telling them everything up to Amber’s snide comment in the hallway. “It’s just...the whole thing is _so_ stupid,” she said. “I just wish it was over already so we could go back to the way things were.” She never thought that the fact that she was fake dating Jonah could result in a very real argument, but here they were. She wished they would’ve put a rule about not fighting in the contract.

“Don’t worry, Buffy. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually,” Cyrus sympathized, patting her on the hand. She accepted the touch appreciatively, giving him a half-smile. If only he could be right about this stupid, annoying argument that was making her miss Jonah a lot more than a fake girlfriend probably should’ve.

It was later that night that Cyrus’s words rang true. Buffy was at her desk doing her Pre-Calculus homework when her phone buzzed, Jonah’s all-too-familiar contact picture popping up on the screen. It made her heart ache, if only in the slightest, and after a second of debating, she swiped right on the call.

She did not say anything when she answered the phone; if Jonah was calling to apologize, who was she to make things easier for him? “Where were you? I didn’t see you at all today!” he asked.

Buffy couldn’t even fault herself for the eye roll that accompanied his words. She scoffed, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear. “And that’s my fault _how_ exactly? You’re the one who rode to school with Amber _and_ didn’t sit with me at lunch.”

He huffed. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened this morning.”

“Took you long enough.”

“I shouldn’t have done all that stuff, all right? I...I don’t know _what_ got into me,” he admitted.

Buffy could feel the anger rising in her chest again, because _how could he not know_? She wished she could feel something other than _mad_. “Me neither, Jonah. Yesterday, you were being super clingy and weird, and now, you’re completely icing me out. Why is that?”

“I don’t know, okay?” he sighed. “I’m not good with feelin—this kind of stuff.”

If her heart caught onto the word _feelings_ , she pretended it didn’t. “It’s not like that matters, anyway. This is all fake, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Jonah said exasperatedly, and Buffy could practically see him scrubbing his face with one hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked; his voice sounded so _accusatory_.

“Nothing. Just how you’re always bringing up the contract or how this is pretend.”

“So? That’s all this is, isn’t it? Just evening things up, isn’t that what you said when we started this?”

Silence seemed to echo between them for a few moments. “Yeah, I guess so.” His voice sounded small.

Buffy did not care. It was hard to see past the path of rage she was currently on. She was annoyed by his answer—she wondered if she’d ever feel anything other than annoyed or upset when it came to Jonah—so she said, “Why’d you put this in the contract if it’s fake, anyway? It’s not like people are going to know whether you call me or not.”

More silence. This time, his voice sounded broken. “Fine. I just won’t call you anymore if that’s what you really want.”

“It is,” she said, even though it wasn’t; it was kind of the opposite of what she wanted.

“Okay,” he said, and that single word alone was enough to break Buffy.

She did not let him hear it; she was not going to let Jonah know she was every little bit just as upset as him if not more so.  “Bye then.”

He didn’t respond, and really, that was for the best. Probably better for Buffy that the conversation didn’t continue, because God knew there would’ve been an even longer list of things she’d regretted saying that night.

Swallowing around the knot in her throat, Buffy crawled into bed, leaving her long-forgotten Pre-Calculus homework at her desk as she flipped off the light.

For the second night in a row, Buffy went to bed feeling sad and angry. And for the second night in a row, it was all because of Jonah Beck.


	11. Chapter 11

The weekend passed in a blur. Buffy didn’t check her phone to see if Jonah had called at all. (A lie, actually. She checked every couple of minutes, and her heart ached each time she realized he hadn’t.) On Monday morning, she woke up to a grey sky and an even stormier mood. She thought for a moment that she should just ask her dad if she could stay home, but at this point, it would look like admitting defeat, and Buffy refused to do that.

So she got up, changed out of her pajamas, and went into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter from her dad, something about being called into work early for a delivery, so even if she _had_ been willing to admit defeat, she couldn’t have even done it. She crumpled the note up, grabbed a yogurt from the fridge, and headed out to her car. She sat in the driveway for a long moment, engine thrumming, heater running, trying to decide if she should even stop at Jonah’s. After their fight last week and the radio silence over the weekend, she wasn’t sure where they even stood anymore. With a sigh, she backed out of the driveway and drove the short distance to his house.

Much to her surprise, Jonah was sitting on the front steps, backpack by his feet. When he saw her pull up to the curb, he grabbed his bag and stood, walking over to the car. Silently, he climbed into the passenger’s seat and buckled his seatbelt. Silently, Buffy put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. Silently, she drove, and Buffy’s heart ached in a way she did not want to acknowledge. Jonah did not look at her the entire ride to school, tapping away at his phone instead. _He’s probably talking to Amber_ , Buffy thought, hating how sick that made her feel. God, what did she get herself into? She did not care anymore. She did not care, she did not care...she cared.

When they got to school, Buffy put the car into park and killed the engine. Jonah unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to get out of the car, but Buffy put a hand on his arm to stop him. For the first time the whole car ride, Jonah looked at her. He didn’t even seem to register that he was.

Internally, she groaned. This argument of theirs had been going on for too long, and Buffy had a feeling that if _she_ didn’t apologize first, then they’d be stuck in the same place for another week. “Jonah, I’m sorry,” she said. The words were out in a rush, because it kind of hurt to say them. Buffy sighed, taking her hand away from his arm to scrub at her face. “I shouldn’t have been so rude to you on Friday, even if you _did_ kind of deserve it.” Okay, so, not the best way to apologize, but she _tried_. She was trying, he couldn’t fault her for that. He stayed silent, a heavy sort of thing that made Buffy’s skin crawl. “I know I let my pride get in the way of things a lot, even when I’m wrong... _especially_ when I’m wrong, actually. So, I’m… I’m sorry, okay?”

More silence. He wouldn’t even look at her anymore, had turned his attention from her face to the dashboard. This annoyed Buffy, just a bit, but she continued on anyway. “Jonah, come on, you’re, like, one of the only people I’ve apologized to _ever_. Can you at least say something?” She’d meant for it to be teasing, meant to make him laugh, but he didn’t and it just sounded like a plea.

He glanced at her, a flicker of movement that Buffy would’ve missed if she hadn’t been watching him. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. If anyone here is in the wrong, it’s me.” He was fidgeting in his seat. “I was being stupid and petty and I deserved, well... _everything_ you said.” His eyes strayed from hers, looking at the hands in his lap. “I don’t know why I was acting like that. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was…,” he trailed off, but Buffy knew what the unspoken word was between them. _Jealous_.

“Why?” It was a lot harder than she’d expected to unlodge the single word from her throat; she could feel her heart thrumming underneath her skin, waiting for him to answer. Because this was a fake relationship, and fake boyfriends were not supposed to be jealous of their fake girlfriends.

“I don’t know...,” he said. “I could tell how much you missed hanging out with Marshall. I guess I missed when that was us.”

Buffy tried to ignore the fact that he’d missed her, too, maybe as much as she’d missed him. “So, what? You felt like I was replacing you with Marty?”

“I mean, you can’t replace someone who wasn’t really there in the first place,” Jonah said. Buffy was pretty sure the words hurt her more than they hurt him. She wanted to tell him how much he underestimated the place he’d had in her life back then, even if it hadn’t lasted long, how she’d spent a majority of seventh grade silently crushing on him and most of eighth pretending she hadn’t been.

“You and Marty aren’t the same person, Jonah. So I couldn’t ever really replace you even if I wanted to,” she said. She could see the half-smile tilt at his lips. “And I don’t want to. _Even if_ you play Ultimate Frisbee instead of track and you say ‘docious magocious’ instead of whatever normal people say.”

He laughed, and she did, too, feeling the days of old anger melting away. The atmosphere felt lighter than it did before, not full of the heavy static that had settled over them.

When Buffy stopped laughing, she allowed herself one quick moment to glance over Jonah’s face—the way his eyes crinkled just the slightest bit now that he was smiling again, the curve of his mouth and how one corner turned further up than the other, the small scar by his chin from when he’d fallen off his skateboard back in eighth grade. All of it made her heart ache, and she knew why, she _knew_ , but she would not let herself start thinking like that again. This was all still fake. It had to _stay_ fake.

Jonah leaned back in his seat, really looking at her for the first time in a while. And for a reason that it probably shouldn’t, it made Buffy feel more grounded than she had been in the fog of anger and confusion they’d been drifting through. “Are we good then?”

Buffy nodded, a sigh of relief hollowing in her chest. “We’re good.” They climbed out of the car, the school bell ringing as they did so. Jonah offered Buffy his hand, and she hesitated for half a second before lacing her fingers between his. For now, at least, she had this.

* * *

Jonah did not pick Buffy up after fifth period let out, due to the fact that their sixth period classes were on opposite ends of the school and they only had a four minute passing period. Buffy was used to this, though, so walking to her locker on her own to pick up her American Sign Language textbook wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Posted on her locker was a piece of notebook paper folded into a heart and taped to the metal door. She took the paper down and unfolded it carefully until she could read what was written on it.

_SOS. Mrs. Danvers said there’s a test tomorrow. Help me study?_

Even though Buffy rolled her eyes, she still smiled at the note. Jonah was _always_ asking for help in math, though when it came down to it, he rarely even did the work. She snapped a picture of the note, attaching it to a text to let him know to come over after school. She slipped her phone into her pocket, grabbed her textbook from her locker, and headed to class. A minute before the late bell rang, Buffy was sitting in her seat when her phone dinged.

From: Jonah

_thank u!!!_

_ur the best :-)_

From: Buffy

_I know._

* * *

Buffy was sprawled out in the living room, attempting to outline the essay for her English class that she had procrastinated on the entire weekend when Jonah arrived. She heard his car pull into the driveway first, engine sputtering along like usual, then the slam of a car door. He knocked on the front door once before letting himself in. They walked to Buffy’s room together, Jonah dropping his bag onto the floor and settling in on her bed. Buffy shoved him over, creating just enough room for her to sit criss-cross with Jonah’s textbook in front of them.

“What’s the test on?” It should have been an easy question to answer, but from the blank expression on Jonah’s face, Buffy could tell he didn’t even _know_. “Okay, well, what have you guys been working on?” Another blank stare. “Oh my God. Jonah, we’re starting from the beginning.”

Which was to say, they weren’t going to get anything done. Buffy tried for an hour to get Jonah to focus on learning the difference between a sine graph and a cosine graph, and then another hour trying to get him to understand how the graphs change depending on the equation, but it was hopeless. He continually got distracted, and at one point even begged Buffy to take a break.

Buffy groaned. “Jonah, you’ve done nothing _but_ take breaks.”

The look he gave her was pitiful. Reluctantly, she agreed, letting him close the book and push it off to the side. He fell back, patting the empty space on the bed beside him. She leveled a glare at him, though it was less cutting and more confused. She didn’t want to focus on the way her heart took refuge in her throat when she realized that he wanted her to lay down next to him. “What?”

“Just come here.” He offered her his hand, gesturing impatiently when she hesitated. With a roll of her eyes, she let herself be pulled down onto the bed, Jonah tucking her carefully against his side. Buffy rested her head against his chest, listening to the thrum of his heartbeat, very sternly not paying attention to how hard her own was beating. They were quiet for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Eventually, Jonah sighed, causing Buffy to glance up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“ _Jonah_.”

Another sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Buffy pushed herself up so that she was leaning on her elbow, face inches away from his. “What do you mean?”

Jonah groaned, scrubbing his free hand over his face. “I mean, I’m sorry about what happened back in middle school. With Amber.”

Buffy frowned; even though she’d been wanting an explanation or an apology or _something_ —she felt bad. She hadn’t realized just how _guilty_ he felt about it; a part of her had always thought he didn’t care about what happened back then, not the way she did. “You don’t _have_ to tell me, you know,” she said, surprising herself. She’d spent the past several days consumed with anger and ache and confusion—and all of it was because of Jonah. She was tired of being angry at him—for the past few days, she wondered if that’s all she’d ever be towards him.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I promised you I would eventually. I at least owe you _that_ much...after everything.” Buffy wanted to know what _everything_ was, but she didn’t ask, just listening to the vibrations of his voice as she leaned against his chest. He was silent for a few seconds—inhaling, then exhaling—before saying, “I wish I had chosen you instead.”

Buffy lifted her head up and away to look at him. When she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “What?”

Jonah opened his eyes, the hint of a sad smile on his lips. “I should have chosen all of you. Our friend group...not Amber. I chose one person over four, and look how that worked out.” He looked like he was going to add something else, but instead, he tugged Buffy back down beside him. Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers up and down her back. The steady rhythm of it set her skin on fire, but she didn’t move.

“Do you think things would be different?” she asked, not daring to look up at him again, “If you’d stayed?” She did not tell him that she’d talked about this kind of thing with Andi and Cyrus before. She did not tell him that _she_ had thought about it before, even if it was just for a split second. She did not say that in eighth grade, Buffy had spent a handful of nights thinking about how maybe she would have been able to work up the courage to tell Jonah how she’d really felt if he hadn’t left her in the dust back then. She did not say anything until he answered.

“I know it would be different.” He sounded so sure about it. Nostalgic and wishful, but sure. “There wouldn’t have been as much drama.”  

“ _That’s_ an understatement.”

Jonah laughed, the sound bubbling up out of nowhere. It was a brilliantly warm and welcome thing after the weekend they’d had. “Freshman year would have been a lot easier to deal with if I had stayed.”

Buffy frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I—okay, well, you know how back in eighth grade, I had those weird panic attacks all the time?” She nodded, remembering clearly how anxious Jonah had been. “Yeah, well, it’s because my parents were just starting to argue all the time. Or, I thought they were just starting to argue. In reality, they’d been arguing before I was even around, but by eighth grade they gave up trying to hide it. I thought that it was my fault, somehow. Like maybe they were upset about my grades or something and instead of taking it out on me, they took it out on each other.”

“Jonah, you know that’s not true, right? Sometimes, parents just don’t get along.”

Jonah shrugged, the movement of his shoulders jostling Buffy out of her spot the slightest bit. “I know that now, I guess. After two and a half years of counseling sessions to work on the anxiety I spiraled into. I just...I don’t know, Buffy. When it was happening, I thought it was my fault. I thought that if I just made myself perfect, then they’d go back to being happy. They’d stop arguing and start loving each other again and our family would be fine. But then my mom filed for the divorce, and my dad signed the papers without even trying to fix their relationship, and just like that, it was over. He left, and now the only thing I have left from him is that shitty car and the emotionless greeting cards he sends for my birthday and Christmas.” The more he talked, the heavier Buffy’s heart felt. She scooted closer to him, acutely aware of all the places where their bodies touched, zero space between them from their shoulders down to their toes. This felt like a break in the contract, but they hadn’t put no cuddling anywhere on the list, just no kissing, so—really, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

“I’m sorry,” she said, because it felt like the only thing he needed to hear, even if it was coming from the wrong person. She couldn’t make Jonah’s dad be a better person, but she could at least be there for Jonah when he wanted to talk about the fall out.

“It’s okay.”

“Do you ever miss him?”

“Who? My dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Only when I think about everything he never got to see me do.” Which sounded like _always_. “Do you miss your mom?”

Buffy ached, because _yes_ , she did. She did. “Always. But it’s...different. You at least have the chance of seeing your dad again. For me, my mom is just...gone.”

Jonah tightened his arm around her shoulder, but it didn’t make her feel claustrophobic. She didn’t feel the need to pull away. Shouldn’t she have felt like the need to pull away? This felt like dangerous territory, territory she was _not_ meant to be in. “Do you want to talk about it?”

And she unraveled, her body coming undone at the seams. Her heart was a bloody mess in her chest when she answered, “My mom has been gone for almost half my life. In a few years, I’ll have spent more time without her than I did with her. It’s...weird, and I’m always aware of it. Except for those rare, quiet moments when I’m not. Sometimes, when my dad is home and we make dinner together and laugh about whatever horror story he has from work, sometimes I forget that it wasn’t always just me and him. And then I’ll remember that we’re _missing_ something, we’re missing this whole person, half of the equation that made me, and it—it makes me feel guilty.

“Like...I don’t know, like I’m _forgetting_ her. I feel like one day I’m going to wake up and not even realize that she’s gone, because it’s going to feel like she was always gone. I’m terrified of that.”

His hand on her back stilled, palm pressed flat to the curve of her spine. “That shouldn’t be something you feel guilty about. That just means you’re healing.”

The laugh that made its way out of her was completely devoid of humor. “I don’t think that losing a parent is something you can really heal from.”

“No, I mean, it is, though, isn’t it? You stop grieving at some point. The missing them hurts less. You have every right to let it go. It wasn’t your fault, Buffy, any more than my dad leaving was mine. It’s okay to let yourself be happy again.” He went back to tracing his fingertips over her skin, the thin fabric of her T-shirt offering little separation between the heat of his skin and her own.

“Jonah?”

“Yeah?”

“How is it that sometimes you can be so smart, you can say all the right things, know all the right answers, but you’re still flunking Pre-Calculus?” Jonah laughed, a boom of a sound that took all the seriousness out of the air.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

They talked for a while longer, about less emotional issues. Buffy tried to get Jonah to study again, but he wouldn’t let her go, claiming that there really was no point in him studying anymore. She rolled her eyes, letting him ramble about the Ultimate Frisbee game that was coming up for a while until he fell silent. For a moment, she thought that he just ran out of things to say, but when she glanced up at him, his eyes were shut. The rise and fall of his chest was an even rhythm, betraying the fact that he’d fallen asleep. She had half a mind to wake him up and force him to study for the test like they were supposed to be doing, but her own eyelids were getting heavy, and he was so warm next to her, and the sun was shifting down below the horizon just outside of the window and—

Just as quickly as Jonah had fallen under, Buffy fell asleep.


	12. Chapter 12

The following Saturday, Buffy was sleeping soundly in her bed when a loud buzzing emitted from her nightstand. Groggily, she yanked her phone off its charger and narrowed her eyes at the screen; for what seemed like the millionth time in a week, Jonah’s smiling face was staring back at her, though he’d certainly never called her at—she squinted at the time— _nine in the morning_? With a groan, Buffy answered the call and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?” Her voice sounded hoarse, which was kind of a given since she’d literally _just_ woken up.

“Hey,” he greeted cheerily. His voice sounded much too pleasant for this early in the morning, and Buffy had to hold back another whine. “Are you busy right now?”

She blinked. Was he really so oblivious to everything that he didn’t even realize the time? At this rate, it wouldn’t surprise her in the slightest. “I _was_ busy sleeping until you called,” she said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She didn’t do a very good job of it, but really, she couldn’t be faulted for that given the state she was in.

“Really?” Jonah asked, sounding genuinely shocked. “It’s nine in the morning. I thought you would’ve been up by now.”

“Jonah, I’m pretty sure _most_ teenagers sleep in until noon on the weekends.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly with her fist, stifling a yawn.

“That’s so wasteful. You could do _tons_ of other things in that time,” he said.

At this moment, Buffy did _not_ care about that. She kind of just wanted to go back to sleep and maybe continue this conversation when she was fully rested. Still, she found herself asking, “Like what?” It was just to humor him, really, not because she was actually _curious_.

“Like playing Ultimate with my friends,” he said. “Want to come?”

And just like that, Buffy had fallen into his trap. “You want me...to play frisbee?” she asked. It was much too early for this. Under normal circumstances, Buffy already thought playing Ultimate was the worst thing she could possibly do; asking half-asleep Buffy was an entirely different, entirely stupid thing.

“Well, yeah! I thought it’d be fun if you came with us. You’d be the _perfect_ captain and my friends have been _begging_ me to ask if you’d play with us. You in?”

Buffy could already feel her walls of defense crumble. Maybe it was the state of fog she was still in from morning drowsiness, or how Jonah’s voice sounded like sunshine, or the fact that his friends _wanted_ her to play with them, but she found herself not completely hating the idea, even though she’d _sworn_ she’d never participate in a game of Ultimate upon making their contract. “Okay,” she said, and it didn’t sound nearly as resigned as it should’ve.

Jonah seemed stunned into silence for a few moments before he said, “Wait, for real? You’ll do it?”

“I’m _not_ saying it again,” she said. She had to keep at least _some_ of her dignity. 

“Hold on, I have to go,” he said, and just like that, the call ended and Buffy was left hanging, phone in hand and realizing the repercussions of what she’d just agreed to.

Fortunately for the both of them, she didn’t get very long to reflect on it. Two seconds later, her door was swinging open, revealing the smiling face of one Jonah Beck holding a cup of iced coffee in one hand and a bag of mini-donuts in the other.

“Have you been here this whole time?” Buffy asked, eyes narrowing. She was already regretting her decision to say yes; her bed was so tempting with its warm blankets and soft pillows and nice smell. But she knew she couldn’t do it without feeling the least bit guilty, not when Jonah was standing in her doorway with breakfast and the biggest grin on his face.

“Of course,” he said, like this was a normal occurrence for them. It definitely was _not_.

“What were you going to do if I said no?”

“Annoyed you until you said yes,” he smiled, and Buffy couldn’t even be bothered to be mad.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe you,” she said, even though she kind of could, because it was Jonah, after all. She resisted the urge to groan as she threw her comforter aside and stood up, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. “Okay, get out so I can get dressed,” she said, and she shoved him out the door.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Buffy was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Jonah’s car and more than kind of regretting her decision. Silently, Jonah passed over the donuts and coffee and Buffy took them appreciatively as he started up the car.

Jonah didn’t talk at all during their drive to the frisbee park, which Buffy was more than grateful for, partially because she was still too tired to hold much of a conversation, and partially because talking over the loud rumbling of Jonah’s Dodge Challenger was a more than difficult task to manage. Buffy appreciated the quiet; even back in middle school, she and Jonah hadn’t constantly felt the need to fill the silence between them.

It didn’t take long for them to arrive at the park; when they pulled up, Buffy felt a weird lurching in her stomach. Not a sick kind of nauseous, but the nervous kind. In all of the middle school frisbee meets Buffy had attended, she did _not_ for the life of her know how to play Ultimate, and the one thing she hated more than anything was looking like a fool. “Buff, you ready?” Jonah asked. He put his hand on her forearm, and the lurching feeling grew.

She didn’t answer, instead shaking her head. “What’s wrong?” he pressed.

She sighed; it was no use hiding the truth from him, no matter _how_ embarrassing she found it. “I don’t...,” she trailed off and groaned. “I don’t know how to play.”

Jonah laughed, loud and amused, and Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not funny! I don’t want to look stupid in front of all your friends. Besides, we _both_ know I’m not the most gracious loser.”

“Don’t worry, Buffy, I’ll teach you how to play. We can even do a practice round if you want,” he offered. “I promise it’ll be fun. And it can get _super_ competitive. You’ll love it.”

Buffy didn’t know about _love_ , but she nodded. “Fine,” she sighed. “Let’s go.”

They both got out of the car, Jonah intertwining his hand with Buffy’s. It reassured her that everything would be okay; it wasn’t like she’d been a track or basketball expert when she’d joined those teams either (not that she was joining the Ultimate team; she had to draw the line _somewhere_.) This was just something new she’d have to learn like anything else.

Jonah’s teammates were already centered around the field, talking to each other or tossing around their frisbees. “Hey, discheads!” Jonah greeted. Buffy’s mind couldn’t help but go _there_ the way it did every other time she heard the nickname.

“Hey,” Natalie grinned. “I see Buffy’s joining us after all.”

Really, Buffy could understand why Andi had been so worried about Natalie back in middle school, because she was kind of an angel in the midst of everything. “I guess I am,” she said, putting on her best smile. That wasn’t hard; she really did like Jonah’s friends, even if she was nervous about playing Ultimate with them.

“How would you feel about being team captain for today?” Natalie asked.

 _Captain?_ Jonah really hadn’t been kidding. “Maybe we could start off with co-captain,” she laughed. “I’ve never really...played before.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it,” Natalie promised. “By the end of the day, we’ll be calling you a fellow dischead.”

Buffy wasn’t sure that was the _best_ news, but she guessed it was the thought that counted. “Great...,” she said, trying not to sound as unenthused as she felt.

Jonah began calling for everyone’s attention to get their teams sorted. Natalie and Buffy were on one team as co-captains with five other people (of which she only knew their names, if that) while Jonah was the captain of the opposing team. Before they started playing, Jonah took her aside and began explaining the rules to her—how and when to make plays, how to score, and what counted as a foul. As much as she hated to admit it, it was all kind of overwhelming at first, but Jonah didn’t seem to mind when she asked for clarification on something she didn’t quite understand. He was patient and understanding and helped her as much as he could, and Buffy was pretty sure she’d never been as grateful for Jonah Beck as she was in that moment.

It didn’t take long for Natalie’s words to prove right. Within a couple rounds of the game, Buffy was getting the hang of it, being the naturally talented athlete that she was. As much as she wanted to be in charge of everything, she figured the people on her team had been playing a _lot_ longer than her, and besides, she’d learned since her early basketball and track days that being a team player was important, so she tried to be both a good co-captain and sport.

Within a few hours, Buffy’s team won two games of Ultimate. Both times left Natalie and her other teammates cheering, and Buffy kept surprising herself by the way she jumped right in. It wasn’t for show, either; she was _actually_ pumped about having won not one, but _two_ games of Ultimate, a fact that both horrified her _and_ made her realize just how deep she was in her fake relationship with Jonah if she was cheering about _Ultimate Frisbee_ of all things. 

Though Ultimate was different than a lot of the other sports she’d played in the past, both teams still went around in a circle and gave each other supportive high-fives. Buffy had kind of expected Jonah to be mad that she’d beat him (maybe because she’d been so used to getting that kind of reaction from Marty), but he wasn’t. “Are you having a good time?” he asked. He looked sweaty and tired, but he was grinning at her.

“I... _actually_ am,” she admitted cautiously, like saying it out loud was a betrayal to herself.

“Maybe you could think about joining the team,” he offered hopefully.

“Let’s not get _too_ crazy,” she said. He laughed, slinging an arm across her shoulders. Buffy did not let herself wonder if it was fake or if it was just Jonah being Jonah, because a lot of the time, it was hard to tell the difference. So she just let herself be happy with the feeling of his arm around her and content with that sun-blinding smile of his. This was to say, she let herself believe it was real, if only for a moment.

Everyone began packing up and heading to their cars around one, Natalie calling after them. “I’ll see you guys at my house,” she yelled, a few of them giving her nods and thumbs-up.

Buffy turned to Jonah. “What’s going on at Natalie’s house?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Sometimes we hang out and watch movies after games.” He paused for a moment, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb against the cotton of her T-shirt. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I mean, you’ve already done plenty—”

“I want to,” she said. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but Jonah’s smile widened. “But _only_ if we can go back to my house first so I can take a shower. I’d rather not stink all day if I can help it.”

Jonah rolled his eyes, but there was laughter dancing in them. “Deal.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jonah dropped Buffy off so she could take a shower while running back to his own house to get cleaned up. She made sure to take her time, knowing she’d be done before Jonah regardless of how quick he got ready.

Of course, she was right the way she tended to be about most things. She ended up waiting on her porch for fifteen minutes before she heard the rumble of Jonah’s Dodge Challenger pull up. She stood up from the porch steps, slipping her phone into the pocket of her sweatshirt and sliding in the death trap that was his car. “What took you so long?” she asked, sounding more annoyed than she actually was.

“This hair doesn’t just happen, Buffy,” he teased. She had to admit it _did_ look good. He must’ve taken a shower, too; he smelled like Dove. “You ready to go?”

“I’m in the car, aren’t I?” she joked, buckling her seatbelt. He smiled, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the stick shift as he began the unfamiliar drive to Natalie’s.

It was silent (besides the roaring of the engine) for all of five minutes before Buffy spoke. “How often do you guys meet up to play Ultimate?”

His eyes crinkled at the question, like he was happy she’d asked. “About once a month. It’s hard for all of us discheads to get together since a lot of us play on different teams.” Buffy scrunched her nose up. “What?” he asked in amusement.

“Of all nicknames they could’ve chosen, they picked _discheads_ ,” she said.

Jonah laughed, then launched into a story about the previous month’s frisbee game, and Buffy made sure to listen to every word. She’d spent a good several years making fun of Jonah for playing Ultimate, but it was actually (not that she’d ever tell _him_ , of course) kind of cool. She kind of felt bad for belittling it so much when it was something he so obviously enjoyed. She made a note to herself to stop making fun of it so much, if only for Jonah’s sake.

Several cars were already parked in front of Natalie’s house when they arrived. The inside of her house was even busier than the outside; almost everyone from the frisbee pitch was there, crowding her kitchen and helping themselves to sandwiches, chips, and sodas and talking loudly amongst themselves.

“Here, I’ll get your plate while you grab us a seat,” Jonah smiled. She nodded in agreement, looking around for a place to sit. She couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed; everyone seemed to have a reserved spot of their own, all of them plopping down in armchairs or sitting criss-crossed on the living room rug. She felt a little lost, like she was out of the loop.

Then Jonah, always her saving grace, it seemed, showed up and handed her a plate of food and a can of vanilla Coke. “Looks like you found a spot,” he smiled, flopping down on a loveseat haphazardly. Well, as haphazard as you could be with a plate full of food in your hands. He was lounging on the couch like he lived there, kicking off his shoes and resting his feet on the arm of the couch since his legs were too long for it. “Come here,” he said, so she did, letting him pull her into his side on the loveseat. Sitting there with Jonah, curled up next to him and watching him laugh with his other teammates, she felt like she belonged.

* * *

As they all finished eating their lunch, Natalie pulled up her Netflix account and asked everyone what they wanted to watch. Everyone spent a half an hour arguing about which movie to play before settling on some comedy action film that Buffy had never heard of before. She didn’t really have it in her to care, though. She honestly couldn’t figure out how they all still seemed so _energetic_ —maybe it was because this was something they did daily, but Buffy felt exhausted to her bones. Maybe she’d underestimated how strenuous Ultimate was after all, yet another revelation she hadn’t planned on uncovering today. She tended to jump to conclusions about the nature of most things; Jonah Beck and everything that came with him seemed to be another thing to add to that list.

 _I should_ probably _work on not being so judgemental_ , she thought to herself. 

But then Jonah accidentally knocked her with his knee in an attempt to get more comfortable and she thought, _Well, maybe not_ today _._

Within the first half an hour of the movie, Buffy was already lost. She was just too aware of everything Jonah did—he was always laughing too loud at the funny parts, and even the not-so-funny parts, or rubbing the hem of her sweatshirt with his thumb, so really, it wasn’t _her_ fault she couldn’t concentrate. Jonah Beck was the perfect distraction wherever she went. 

Buffy was quickly figuring out he was also the perfect pillow. It was one thing when they’d been lounging out in her room after studying for Jonah’s math test—for starters, there’d been an entire bed of space and no one had been watching. But this—being squeezed together on a cramped loveseat in Natalie’s living room—left little room for leeway. She was practically laying on top of Jonah, her view from the screen mostly obscured due to the fact she was laying her head on his chest. One of his arms was wrapped around her back, somehow pulling her impossibly closer to him, even closer than she already was.

Every once in a while, after his ever-present laughter died out, after he stopped rubbing the side of her arm with his thumb, after he ceased moving completely and Buffy could only feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, she’d let herself steal a glance at him. Only because she knew he wasn’t watching, that he wouldn’t catch her with the familiar shift of his eyes and slightly amused grin. The energy between them felt so different nowadays, charged with a different electricity that Buffy wasn’t sure how to deal with. Because how was she supposed to deal with the real feelings she were having for her fake boyfriend? She wasn’t. It was a flaw in the system, an unexpected side effect in their arrangement.

It wasn’t until the end of the movie that Buffy was finally able to pull her gaze away from Jonah, letting her own eyelashes flutter shut against the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

* * *

When Jonah finally woke up, his whole body felt like it was made of jelly. At first, he put it down to the state of drowsiness he was still in—but then his gaze shifted downwards to see a girl laying on his chest. No, not a girl. (Well, it was, but not just _any_ girl.) Buffy. He knew this shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him, because they _were_ fake dating, after all. What he hadn’t (but really should have) expected was the uproar of butterflies that whirled his stomach upon making the realization. Her cheek was pressed against his shirt, the sleepiest of smiles on her face. It was such a rare moment that he saw her like this—rare when her eyebrows weren’t pulled together in a furrowed line, when her eyes weren’t narrowed or her lips weren’t pursed. The only times he’d seen her like that was when they weren’t putting on a show for everyone, when they were just together. Being Jonah and Buffy, as if they’d always been like this and always would be.

It made him sad to think that maybe they wouldn’t.

Jonah didn’t get much time to dwell on that, (which was probably for the best; worrying, especially about things that might not even happen, had never led Jonah to a good place.) “Look who’s awake,” he heard a voice muse from the other side of the room. He glanced over to see Natalie, and almost immediately, the easy smile fell on his face. “How was your nap?”

“Better than usual,” he said, smiling as he glanced down at Buffy. It was a thought he wouldn’t normally say out loud, but this was a part of their arrangement. (And it might’ve helped just a little that Buffy wasn’t awake to hear it.) “What time is it?” It couldn’t have been _too_ late; half the team was still there, still engrossed in watching the movie playing or participating in their own conversations.

“Half-past six,” Nat said. There was a lilting pause in her voice, one that suggested she wanted to say something else. Finally, she added, “I’m glad Buffy ended up coming today. She did really good for being a first-timer.”

“She did, didn’t she?” Jonah said, and he couldn’t help the swell of pride in his voice. When they’d first started the whole fake dating thing, she’d told him that she’d never play a game of Ultimate, but there she’d been today, in the middle of it all. He wondered what had changed her mind.

“You should ask her to join the team. We could always use another star player,” she said.

He laughed, glancing down at Buffy again. “No, I already tried. That would have to take _a lot_ of convincing.” Probably a lot more convincing than he was currently capable of, especially considering Buffy was the stubbornest person he’d ever met.

“Really?” Nat asked. “Huh.”  


“What?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. I’m just surprised, I guess. I always kind of thought Buffy would do anything for you.”

Jonah smiled, mostly to himself. He wasn’t sure about Buffy, but he knew he’d do anything for her. If she asked him, he’d find a way to go back in time and fix what had happened between Amber and the rest of their friends. Honestly, he’d probably do that regardless of whether Buffy asked him to or not. The obvious choice had been right there all along; how had he chosen so _stupidly_? “You think so?” he asked, and this wasn’t a part of the script he was supposed to follow. (Because, if he was honestly asking himself, was any of it?)

“You know how she looks at you?” she asked. He shook his head, because whatever way _he_ was thinking was probably wrong. “Jonah, Buffy looks at you like you hung the moon.”

Jonah could feel a blush burning its way into his cheeks. He wasn’t sure about _that_ , no matter how true he wished it was. Buffy was always looking at him with her drawn eyebrows and narrowed eyes and pursed lips, always looking at him in either annoyance or anger. (Which, given the events of the last week, he couldn’t blame her for that.) “I should probably head out soon,” he said. “I don’t want her dad to worry or anything.”

Nat nodded, not saying anything else as Jonah shook Buffy awake. He’d already woken her up once today; what was one more time? “Buffy,” he whispered. He nudged her shoulder, and he could hear her let out a soft whine. “Come on, it’s time to go.”

Almost as soon as she opened her eyes, Buffy’s mouth bounced back into its firm line, her eyebrows knitting together as she lifted her head up off his chest. “Already?” she asked. “But we just got here.”

Jonah laughed. “Yeah, five hours ago, maybe. Are you ready to go?”

“Technically,” she grumbled, but she rolled off Jonah and got up to put her shoes on. It should’ve felt like a relief, but it didn’t. A bigger part of him than he was willing to admit just wanted to keep her there forever. And really, he didn’t think he’d ever get tired of waking up to Buffy Driscoll. (Not that he’d ever get to when it wasn’t a part of their arrangement, but it was still a nice thought to have. Like there was a possibility of it happening for real outside of...whatever it was they were doing.)

Jonah got ready to go, double-checking he’d grabbed everything he’d brought as he tugged his own shoes on. Buffy was talking to Natalie and thanking her for the fun she’d had (Jonah thought he deserved at least _some_ of the credit, but whatever.) Right as they were telling Jonah’s other friends goodbye, Nat jumped up from her spot. “I almost forgot!” She pulled out her phone, opening up her camera. It’d taken a moment for him to process what it was, but when he did, it felt like someone had struck a chord on his heartstrings. The most recent picture on Natalie’s camera was of the two of them; Jonah’s arm was wrapped around Buffy’s back, her head laying on his chest. It must’ve been taken when they’d both been asleep, the picture leaving Jonah in stunned silence. He didn’t know how to tell Natalie how much it meant to him that she’d taken this—because as stupid as it was, she’d captured a piece of their relationship, a piece that would probably be just a shadow of a memory in a couple months. The picture felt like the goodbye before the goodbye, a souvenir of what once was and once would be. 

Leave it to Jonah to completely read into a picture one of his friends had taken of him and his fake girlfriend.

“Thanks, Nat,” he said. He had to force the words out of his mouth, each syllable feeling like it’d gotten stuck in his throat.

He felt Buffy take his hand. It was usually him who initiated that kind of stuff, not her, but he wasn’t going to complain. “I love it. Thank you,” Buffy smiled.

“Of course. I’ll send it to you, yeah?”

Jonah nodded and smiled, squeezing Buffy’s hand as if to remind himself he was still holding it. “I’ll see you later, Nat.”

It was halfway out the door that Jonah received the text from Natalie. Without a second thought, he saved it to his camera roll and made it his lock screen. (His home screen was already of Buffy at an ice cream parlor he’d gone to with Andi, Cyrus, Walker, and TJ a few days before. Buffy had a dot of vanilla ice cream on her nose.)

The ride home was quiet save for the ever-present rumble of Jonah’s car. Buffy was leaning against the window, like she was trying to rest and wake herself up at the same time. It wasn’t until they got to a stop sign that a sound other than the engine of the Challenger was audible when Jonah got the ding of a notification on his phone. It was a text from his mom wondering when he’d be home, so he shot her a quick response before setting it back down. When he did, he saw Buffy staring at him, the trace of a smile on her lips. “What?” he asked in confusion. He didn’t have anything stuck to his face or anything, right? His hair wasn’t messed up too bad?”

She shook her head, more to herself than anything. “Nothing,” she said. “Your lock screen.”

And _oh_. He could feel the embarrassment rising up in his chest even though he had the best excuse a fake boyfriend could have. “Oh, yeah. Got to keep up appearances, right?” he asked.

Buffy seemed to snap out of whatever daze she was in, the soft smile disappearing from her face. “Yeah. Right,” she said. She turned back to the window.

Even though nothing had really happened, the atmosphere between them felt different than before. Jonah wasn’t sure what it was—all he knew was that he wasn’t as happy as he had been a few seconds ago. He brushed the thought off, driving the rest of the distance back to Buffy’s house.

When he finally dropped her off at her house, she barely spared him a second glance before unbuckling her seatbelt. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” he said, trying to hide the hurt from his voice. “See you later.”

She got out of the car, practically running up the steps to the porch. He felt like he was watching, waiting for something as she made it to the door.

Just as her hand found its way to the door knob and pushed it open, Jonah got what he was looking for. She threw a glance at him over her shoulder, so fleeting that he might’ve missed it if he’d looked away for a second. Then she was bounding into the house and slamming the door behind her, and Jonah was alone.

An old memory surfaced its way into his mind, one of him and Amber back in eighth grade. “If she turns to look back at you, it means she likes you,” she’d said.

And just for a second, a shot in the dark, he wondered if maybe it was true. That maybe Buffy liked him. But as soon as it appeared, he pushed it away. He wasn’t going to trick himself into hoping for something that would never happen.

Because Jonah and Buffy were fake boyfriend and girlfriend, and as long as they dared to keep their arrangement up, as long as time allowed, it would stay that way, no matter how much he wished it were different.


	13. Chapter 13

The whole day at school, Buffy’s heart felt like it was beating outside of her chest. She didn’t know, exactly, when everything had started changing. She didn’t know when her feelings for Jonah had turned from pretend into...whatever they were now. But she did know that she couldn’t look at him for too long anymore without her chest aching. She did know that she’d spent most of the past week stealing glances of him from the corner of her eye, always when he was looking away or distracted, because how was she supposed to carry on pretending like this meant nothing to her when she caught his heartbreaking gaze? In her mind, Jonah wasn’t so much an eternal sunbeam anymore, but a galaxy all on his own. She hated how it felt like she was right back in middle school, like she had never really left any of those feeling behind.

Though she had put herself to bed by nine, just like normal, she could not manage to fall asleep. All roads lead back to Jonah Beck; Jonah as he laughed at Buffy’s snide remarks like they were funnier than they actually were; Jonah sitting across from her at the Red Rooster, guitar in his hands; Jonah with his arm around her on the loveseat at Natalie’s house, fingertips brushing against the soft skin of her hip, right below where the hem of her t-shirt had scrunched up. It hurt to think about how easily all of this came to him, how he could just give all of his affection away like it wasn’t a precious commodity. It hurt to think about how hard it would be to just walk away from it all once their arrangement was up.

What hurt the most, though, was the fact that she knew how much she was going to miss him by the end of it all. Over the past few weeks, Jonah had become such an integral part of Buffy’s life. He was the first person to text her in the mornings, and the last person she talked to at night. She _knew_ if any of the times they were in the middle of a fight were anything to go off of, when they finally called everything off, it was going to feel like losing half of her heart all over again.

But that was a problem for future Buffy. Now, right now, current Buffy could only focus on was how it felt like her room was too small to hold her; it felt like the air was electric and any tiny movement would start it on fire. Now, current Buffy couldn’t fall asleep, and she was pretty sure the world would break if she didn’t leave right away. Rolling over in bed, she grabbed her phone from the charger, dialing one of the only numbers she had committed to memory.

It rang.

* * *

The call came in at half-past midnight, and the first thing Jonah’s sleep-drunk mind noted was panic. Buffy’s contact photo flashed over his screen, brilliant white light urgent in his dark room.

“Buffy?” his voice caught, stuttered along to the anxiety gripping his heart. Was she okay? Did something happen? “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” There was silence on the other end of the call. Or rather, not silence, but the absence of sound. At the moment, it all meant the same thing. The anxiety bubbling in his stomach grew, an endless oil spill.  

But then—a sigh scratched over the speaker. Jonah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Buffy said, her voice so ragged that it made something in Jonah’s chest _ache_.

“Oh, okay. I’m here.”

“Did I wake you?” It was a hushed question, not quite worried, but getting there.

“No,” Jonah lied, but it sounded like the truth. Something about this call seemed different from the other ones they’d shared. It was more open. More dangerous. “I was awake.” This sounded like the lie it was, but Jonah couldn’t even be bothered to care. Buffy’s breath was a shudder on the other line, like this was too much to bear. Or, maybe, like what led up to this was.

“Come get me.” The words were out there before she could stop them, electric and wild. “I just—I need to get out of here.”

They shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t some act for their friends. This wasn’t something Amber would see and get jealous over. This was just them, just Jonah and Buffy, open. Jonah and Buffy, unfiltered. A match lit beneath Jonah’s skin, a rolling fire at his pulse point, growing and growing the more he thought about it. He shut off his mind.

“I’ll be there soon.”

* * *

Jonah pulled up in front of Buffy’s house a handful of moments later. He killed the engine to his traffic hazard of a car, parked on the curb on the other side of the street from Mr. Driscoll’s truck. The lights all over the house were off, and for a moment, Jonah wondered if Buffy had fallen asleep. But then—Buffy slipped out of the house, Jonah’s hoodie she’d stolen the week before pulled on haphazardly. He was acutely aware that it was two sizes too big on her, the hem nearly covering up the pajama shorts she wore. Her feet were only covered in socks, a pair of old checkered Vans in her hand. She pulled the door open and dropped into the seat, tossing her shoes down on the floor.

“You actually came,” she said, looking at him sideways while she leaned down to tug on her shoes. It didn’t sound like she thought he _wouldn’t_ show, rather that she was thankful that he did. Jonah swallowed around the tightness in his throat, cutting his eyes away from her as she sat up. The collar of his hoodie slipped to her shoulder, revealing the thinnest sliver of her collarbone. It shouldn’t have felt nearly as intimate as it did.

There was something unfamiliar about her then, shadows of her face cast about in the moonlight. Something raw and untouched and celestial. It hurt Jonah to look at her directly like that. He forced his eyes back to the road, over and over again.

“Of course I did,” he answered once he evened out his breathing more. All of this was...crazy, wild, inappropriate.

Mr. Driscoll was going to _kill_ him if he ever found out.

Jonah turned the car back on, a disaster roar of the engine, and he prowled down the street, out and around the street corner, climbing faster and faster until they were half a town away from either of their homes.

His heart called _away, away, away_ , and when he glanced over at Buffy in the passenger seat, feet pulled up beneath her, eyes closed, face turned towards the wind rippling in from the open window, his heart _ached_.

A reckless decision, Jonah pulled the car over onto the shoulder of the road.

“Switch me seats,” he said. He wondered if his voice sounded as wrecked in Buffy’s ears as it did his own. Buffy blinked at him, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, didn’t have to, just unhooked her seatbelt and crawled over the center console into the seat Jonah had vacated. He rounded the hood, settling in on the passenger’s seat like it was where he really belonged.

“Where to?” she asked, hand on the gear shift. Her eyes were bright, stars stolen right from the sky above them. Jonah set his hand on top of hers, and it felt like a sin.

He breathed, “Anywhere.”

They drove.

* * *

The engine roared beneath their feet, a sound Buffy felt resonate through her soul more than she could hear it. The windows to Jonah’s 1990s Dodge Challenger were all rolled down, the night air spilling in around them. The radio was cranked loud, loud, loud, and Buffy laughed along with it as she shifted the car into the next gear.

They tore down the empty streets, faster, _faster_. Away from school. Away from their homes. Away from everyone they’d ever known.

 _Away, away, away_.

This was going to be his undoing. Sitting there in the passenger’s seat, Jonah watched the heave of Buffy’s chest, the rise and fall of her breathing as she pushed the Challenger faster. _Click_ , the car stalled, jerking them both to a halt. She winced, a small movement of her shoulders, then pressed her left foot against the clutch and her right foot against the brake until the gear shift easily slid back to first gear, just the way Jonah had taught her.

And then—she was back to throwing the car into the next gear, testing how fast it would go, how much gas she could burn up in the shortest amount of time. Jonah’s hand fell from on top of hers on the gear shift to the curve of her knee, bare skin on bare skin.

It was this: Buffy speeding through the streets, away from Shadyside, climbing up through the mountains on the edge of town.

It was this: Jonah’s heart a wild bird in his chest, beating, beating, beating against his ribs, desperate to be felt, desperate to get out.

His emotions were gasoline on a hardwood floor, spilling, soaking, covering everything in its path. There was not a place in the world that wouldn’t burn if a lit match skimmed his skin.

The car stalled three more times as they drove, but then before either of them had even realized, they were parked at the lookout point, high above Shadyside, high above their small world. The city below them flickered, street lights blinking, a collection of fairy lights so far out of reach.

 _If this were a kingdom_ , Jonah thought, _Buffy would be the queen_. She settled back in the seat, car thrumming idle beneath them. Her back was pressed against the door, right leg tucked beneath her, so she could look at Jonah head on.

 _If this is the end_ , he thought, _I’d be okay_.

“I never thought,” she started softly, “that I would make it to here.”

“Lookout Point?” Jonah asked, even though he knew she wasn’t really talking about the moment they were in directly.

She shook her head, and in that moment, Jonah realized that he was a little bit in love with her. A little bit in love with the way her mouth curled in that sharp smile, a little bit in love with the flutter of her eyelashes against her cheeks, a little bit in love with the way her voice sent a shot through his whole soul.

The ache of his chest built to a crescendo, and he closed his eyes.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“No,” Buffy said, a huff of laughter threaded through her words, “I mean, to _now_. Junior year. When...when my mom passed away, I thought everything was the end. But life went on, and I grew up, and I’m here. We’re here.” Her voice caught on _we,_  like it was a thought she hadn’t meant to share.

This _really_ wasn’t supposed to happen.

“We’re here,” Jonah echoed, and the way her eyes lit up was killing him. He looked away, closed his eyes, but he could still imagine the way her hair was falling down around her face, a frame of curls against her skin. He could still imagine the way she looked like she was holding the galaxy inside of her, lit gold from within. He could still imagine the faded logo of his hoodie on her body. He could still imagine everything, and it was killing him.

 _I love her_ , he thought, finally letting his mind fall where it was never supposed to. _That’s what this is._ _I love her, and she’s never going to feel the same way_. He opened his eyes, not even startled by the way she was staring at him. It was less staring, actually, and more gazing. A soft, unguarded thing. _Oh._

“You know, the year I moved here, I told my mom I hated it.” This was the second time they’d talked about Pat in the past week, and Jonah was starting to wonder if Buffy talked to anyone else about her mom. From what he could figure, it didn’t seem likely. He wasn’t sure if he was worried or honored. A weird mix of both, maybe.

“Really?” Having grown up in Shadyside, the small town was all Jonah had ever known. Even as he got older, he didn’t have the urge to leave it all behind. Not the way some of his peers did. Not the way Buffy seemed to.

She nodded, tugging down the sleeves of her hoodie until they covered her hands. “I mean, I was moving away from all my friends, so that sucked. And then my mom get deployed and it was just me and my dad, and that sucked, too. I don’t know...I had a rough time.”

“I didn’t know,” Jonah said, because it was the truth. He hadn’t met Buffy until a year after she moved to Shadyside, and by that time, she was already friends with Andi, Cyrus, and Walker. They already had their own little group.

Buffy laughed, but it fell flat. Maybe that was her intent. Maybe it was just a side effect. “No one did. Not really. And then Mom passed away, and everything _really_ got bad. I never wanted to run away from it all as much as I did then.”

“Do you still want to?” Jonah didn’t know if he really wanted her answer, but he wanted to keep her talking.

“Do I still want to what?”

“Run away from it.”

She fell quiet, a thoughtful look pulling her eyebrows together. “Sometimes,” she answered, because it was the truth. Sometimes, when school got hectic and her friend group collectively lost its mind and everything just felt heavy. Sometimes, when she woke up from a dream where she still had both her parents. Sometimes, when she heard Jonah laughing at something she said, and it left her feeling too warm and known. Sometimes. She added, “I want to go back someday. Where my mom was before we were here.”

“You want to travel the world?”

“Yes,” she said. “I want to go back to France, Germany, Japan. Everywhere my mom was ever stationed. I want to see it differently than I did when I was young. Less like the towns we lived in were something that stole her away from me. More like they were something to love, because I’m sure she did love living everywhere. I want to go and travel and see everything the way I know she did, as soon as I’m done with school.”

Jonah wasn’t sure what to say because that all sounded incredible, but feelings were complicated and he didn’t know how to handle it, so he said the only thing he knew he could fall back on. “Dosh.”

Buffy scrunched her nose, “Jonah, oh my _God_.” And then she was laughing, light in a way that lifted the whole atmosphere. Jonah’s heart stuttered, and he cursed it all, just a little. Things were never supposed to end up like this. It was never supposed to be this _real_.

“Hey.” Her voice was soft once she was done laughing. She reached over, fingers grazing Jonah’s hand. Against his better judgement, he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Come with me.” Buffy said it like him joining her while she traveled the world was actually an option. She said it like this wasn’t all just pretend.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Buffy sounded so sure and honest that it broke Jonah’s heart.

He thought, _I wish I could_ , but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. He couldn’t bring himself to shatter the safety bubble they were in, just the two of them in the front seat of his terrible car, all the way above their small town. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that, while Buffy had every opportunity to see the world, the most he would ever see was the community college in the next town over. He couldn’t bring himself to say that they probably wouldn’t even be hanging out after high school, because once their current arrangement was done, why would Buffy even keep him around?

“Okay.”  

* * *

Buffy drove them home. Or, she drove herself home, at least. It was a slower trip back than it was away, the urgent thrumming of her heart a softer beat after the trip to the mountains. At a stoplight, red glow casting shadows over her face, Jonah fought to keep himself from leaning over and kissing her. When she let him tangle their hands together on the gear shift, he very nearly failed.

It was this: hopelessly oblivious Jonah being hopelessly in love with a girl he could hopelessly never have.

It was this: that very same girl laughing with the wind in her hair and terrible pop music rolling through the speakers, breaking his heart without even knowing it.

It was this: Buffy catching glimpses of him at stoplights and street corners, always smiling, always open, always unfiltered.

It was this: her missing the way he would cut his eyes away right before she noticed him looking at her with the same soft gaze she was giving him.

Buffy put the car in park a house away from her own. The clock on the dash read 4:32 and she was tired, but she didn’t want to get out of the car.

The clock on the dash read 4:32, and Jonah knew he should tell her goodbye because they both had to get up for school in less than three hours, but he didn’t want her to get out of the car either.

“Thank you,” Buffy said, “for picking me up. And listening to me ramble.”

“No problem.” Jonah answered, because it was true. Nothing with Buffy was ever a problem, except, of course, when it was. Buffy nodded, moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. She climbed out of the driver’s seat, out of their bubble, out of Jonah’s life in a way he couldn’t explain. He watched after her until she reached the door, the engine turning over before catching. And he assumed she was going to go back up to her room without a glance back at him. But then—

She turned around, looking like she was thinking something through, and bounded back over to the Challenger. Jonah rolled his window down, and Buffy leaned against the door, ducking her head back into the car.

“Did you forget something?” he blinked up at her, having scanned the contents of the cab for any explanation as to what she could be missing.

She sounded breathless when she answered, even though the distance between her house and his car was not nearly enough to leave her winded. “Just this.”

Buffy leaned in close, and her lips were a butterfly press against his cheek, but as she was pulling away, it felt like he was being completely unraveled.

“Goodnight, Jonah.” And then she was gone.

The world around him burned.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn’t even three hours after Buffy got home that she had to get up again, having overslept her alarm by twenty minutes. The panic of her situation didn’t fully set in until she was in the kitchen eating a granola bar, the oven clock blinking 7:45 at her in blocky green numbers. Without a second thought, she snatched her backpack off the hook along with her keys and stormed out the door, pushing past the throbbing in her head.

When she arrived at Jonah’s, he seemed to be a in similar state of alarm, haphazardly running out the door with his backpack and jacket hanging from either arm and a bitten piece of toast in his mouth. As tired as she was, she couldn’t help but laugh a little at the sight. Even _seeing_ Jonah brought the memories from just a few hours before flooding back, filling her entire being with a warmth she didn’t know she could possess. Maybe her eyes were aching with tiredness and all her limbs felt sore, but she was somehow happier than she had been in a long time.

This feeling was nearly ruined when Jonah swung the car door open, throwing his things around so carelessly that he nearly clipped Buffy with the zipper on his jacket. “Watch it,” she said half-heartedly; she wasn’t in the mood for berating Jonah, partially because she was tired and partially because she was still feeling a little swoony from the hours of the early morning they’d shared.

“Sorry,” he said, talking around the piece of toast still in his mouth, also half-heartedly. A smile hinted at her lips, and for once, she let it, too tired to win the constant battle she was always having with herself when it came to Jonah.

* * *

The first half of the day seemed to pass by in a blur; somehow, Buffy felt like she was simultaneously drifting through a fog _and_ floating on a cloud, such a weird combination that it should’ve been concerning, but she knew it was because of Jonah Beck and his ability to make everything just that much more confusing for her.

It was when she was getting her ASL textbook out of her locker for sixth period that Buffy found the note taped to the metal door. Without even looking, Buffy knew it was from Jonah; who else would leave her a piece of paper folded in the shape of a heart? She fumbled with opening it, still in the wrong head space for doing anything more productive than trudging through the hallway in a half-dazed manner.

_Any plans after school? :-)_

She produced her phone from her pocket, typing up a quick text for him.

From: Buffy

_The Spoon, then grocery shopping. It’s my night to make dinner._

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed with a reply, heart speeding up a lot more than she knew it should’ve.

From: Jonah

_can i come??_

She rolled her eyes, then regretted doing so when the unexpected ache of exhaustion pulled at her bones. She didn’t know why he was so eager to spend more time with her when that was all they’d done that morning, when he could go home and sleep, but she wasn’t going to complain about it.

From: Buffy

_If you want?_

From: Jonah

_thank u!! see u then <3 _

She ignored the tug at her chest, instead shoving her phone back in her pocket and heading to sixth period.

The rest of the day didn’t get much easier, but at least she had hanging out with Jonah and her friends after school to look forward to. Jonah was already waiting for her when seventh period let out, smiling in a way a person who’d only gotten a few hours of sleep shouldn’t have been. “Hey,” he said. “Ready to go?”

“I guess so,” she said, letting out a tired sigh. He took her hand in his, Buffy only letting herself smile when she thought he wasn’t looking. Together, they walked to The Spoon, the trip there not feeling like as much of a death march as it would’ve if Jonah weren’t at her side.

“Still tired?” Cyrus asked as they slumped down into their usual seats. They’d been like that all morning, walking around with hunched shoulders and dark-circled eyes. But they were both still smiling, which he supposed was good in light of things.

Over-analyzing how people behaved and acted was Cyrus’s forte, but when it came to Buffy and Jonah, it was like he almost felt _responsible_ for their happiness, like if there was something wrong with their relationship, it was his fault. Maybe because he, at least in part, felt like he had a hand in them getting together.

Which was kind of silly, now that he thought about it. For all he knew, Buffy and Jonah had naturally gotten together that first weekend of school just like Buffy had said they did! But Cyrus had always found the whole thing weird, how they’d gotten together mere _days_ after he’d sent out the letters…

_No_. The whole thing was just pure coincidence! But he knew deep down that the letters he’d sent out had probably played some kind of part in their relationship, even if Buffy had never said otherwise. Unless the letter hadn’t sent properly, Jonah had most likely received her letter, either before their relationship or at the start of it.

Before he could continue to overthink the situation, Buffy began to burst out into laughter, snapping everyone’s attention towards her. From the little amount Cyrus had been paying attention, it’d been at some off-handed joke that Walker had made, but it hadn’t been funny enough to elicit _this_ kind of reaction. He figured it was due to the deliriousness Buffy was under from a lack of sleep and nothing more.

This fact, however, did not stop Jonah’s face from falling in the slightest, something Cyrus would have missed had he not been looking his way. It only lasted for a few seconds before he bounced back into his ever-present smile, almost like nothing had happened, though Cyrus knew that something had. The moment only further confirmed just how real Cyrus knew his feelings for Buffy were, a fact that made his worries about their relationship seem even more absurd than they had before.

* * *

It wasn’t long before Buffy and Jonah were standing up from the table, Jonah paying their bill despite Buffy’s protests. “My dad wants me to go grocery shopping for dinner tonight,” she explained. “I’ll see you guys later?”

“Yeah, later,” Cyrus smiled, the rest of them nodding or waving as they left the restaurant.

“Did you see Cyrus staring at us the whole time?” Buffy asked. They were walking side-by-side on the sidewalk, shoulders bumping in a way that was almost annoying but not quite.

“He was? I didn’t notice,” Jonah said.

She rolled her eyes; she didn’t even know why she’d bothered to ask the most oblivious person on the face of the Earth. “Whatever,” she sighed. “It’s probably nothing. Cyrus is just weird like that sometimes.”

“True,” Jonah laughed.

Together, they drove to the local grocery store, talking about random, pointless things, which was almost necessary at that point given the heavy topics they’d delved into at lookout point that morning. “All right, I need you to get everything on this list,” Buffy said once they reached the store. She handed him a grocery list, one she’d scribbled down on a napkin during their visit at The Spoon.

“But this is, like, six things,” Jonah said, a pout on his face.

“I _already_ split it in half, What more do you want?” she asked, waving her own list in the air. She’d only given him basic things, anyway, items like milk and eggs that weren’t so specific that he’d get distracted looking for them and wander off. “Besides, you’re the one who asked to come with _me_ , remember?”

“Ugh, fine,” Jonah said. Buffy grabbed a stray cart someone had left behind, plopping her keys and phone in the basket. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“As if,” Buffy snorted, almost smiling as she watched him walk away. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d wander off at least once, but at this point in the day, it was a risk she was willing to take.

Pacing herself, Buffy scanned the first few aisles, looking for the items on her grocery list. It didn’t take her long to get all the things she’d needed, successfully plopping them in her cart once she was finished. Unsurprisingly, it’d been approximately fifteen minutes since she’d last seen Jonah, most likely having gotten distracted by a row of frisbees or something equally stupid.

With the wheels of her grocery cart squeaking, Buffy surveyed each of the rows, reaching the second to last one before seeing the flash of a blue shirt and a wave of brown hair. “Jonah,” she hissed. “I _specifically_ told you not to wander off.”

He whipped around, giving her puppy dog eyes, and the look on his face was so overwhelmingly _adorable_ that Buffy had to look away. “I’m hungry,” he said.

It only took Buffy a quick glance around to realize he was in the candy aisle. “Which is _exactly_ why you shouldn’t have wandered off so we could go make dinner,” she said. “What were you even getting?”

“Sour gummy worms,” he said, holding the package out for her. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget about you.” In his other hand was a box of Junior Mints, Buffy’s favorite candy. “You got them at the movies last time we went, so I thought I’d get you some.”

Buffy did her best to hold back the sentimental smile surely growing on her face, letting out a sigh. “Fine. Put them in the cart,” she said.

Jonah tossed her a winning smile, dropping the candy in her cart before running off again, hopefully to get his forgotten list of groceries.

Once they checked out, they began unloading groceries into the back of Buffy’s car, slowly emptying the cart out. “Here, go put the cart up and I’ll start the car,” Buffy said, slamming the trunk shut.

Jonah took the handles of the shopping cart, recklessly spinning it around in a circle but not making any move to put it away. “What are you waiting for?” Buffy asked. She tried to sound annoyed about the whole thing, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be that bothered by it.

“For you to get in,” Jonah said. There was a mischievous grin on his face, one Buffy was all too familiar with to know he wasn’t joking.

“Are you crazy? How about I tell you all the reasons why I _shouldn’t_ get in?”

“Which are?”

“We could get kicked off the premises or...I don’t know, you could accidentally send me into oncoming traffic or something!” Buffy said.

“If I ever sent you into oncoming traffic, it wouldn’t be an accident,” Jonah countered. She glared at him. “Kidding! Come on, you can trust me, I’ve done this before.”

“With Amber?” she asked. She didn’t mean for it to sound so bitter, but it did, coming out like a blind accusation she hadn’t been aware she was making.

He shrugged, but the look on his face said it all. “Maybe. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

Buffy paused, having the decency to feel _somewhat_ guilty. “You know, if you have to _tell_ me to trust you, that’s generally not a good sign,” she said, but she wasn’t _really_ being serious, and he knew it, too. She could tell by the way his eyes were lighting up with two beacons of hope, both of which Buffy knew would be her doom.

“Come on, Buffy, just get in,” Jonah said, and she sighed, feeling her defenses crumble. She hated that her normally determined resolve fell so easily around him, but maybe it was because she was just that far gone when it came to Jonah Beck.

“Fine,” she groaned, and his seemingly endless smile widened.

“Here, I’ll help you,” Jonah said, putting his hands on her hips, and Buffy’s breathing shallowed.

“But I’m taller than you,” Buffy said. It was true; she _did_ have a few inches on him, not that she’d pointed it out to him more than once or twice, and only for bragging purposes if anything.

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, I can handle it.”

“There it is again. _Trust me_ ,” she said. It was less serious and more of a way for her to deflect from the fact that Jonah’s hands were on her waist.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” he asked, mirth dancing in those green eyes of his, and Buffy looked away.

“If I’m going to be the worst, I might as well be the best at it,” she said. Before she could further comment, he was hoisting her up and plopping her down in the shopping cart in one swift movement.

“Told you I could handle it,” Jonah smirked, tangling his fingers around the handlebar again. Buffy pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“Just... _please_ don’t do anything stup—”

Before she could finish her sentence, Jonah gave himself a running start, speeding down the pavement and taking Buffy with him. The wind whipped around her face and whistled in her ears, but it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out Jonah’s whooping laughter behind her.

Jonah continued charging down the paved aisle way before screeching to a stop in front of the cart return, and Buffy was sure she’d never felt as alive as she did in that moment. Jonah was laughing again, and she was, too, standing up in the cart so he could pull her out.

Again, he looped his arms around her waist and heaved her out of the shopping cart, and suddenly, the butterflies in Buffy’s stomach weren’t just due to her adrenaline rush. “I don’t see any moving cars nearby, do you?” Jonah asked.

“Not _yet_ you don’t,” Buffy said, and he smiled up at her, green eyes glinting with something she didn’t recognize. Or maybe it was something she didn’t _want_ to recognize, because if she did, it would make the whole thing even more real to her, and she wasn’t sure she could handle how terrified that made her insides feel.

Jonah finally pulled away from her, pulling away like it was nothing, and Buffy shook the thoughts from her head. Of _course_ it wasn’t real, and even if it was, even if she wanted it to be, the whole situation still left her reeling with fear. She didn’t know _how_ to be in a relationship when it was real. It was easy with Jonah because it was fake, plain and simple.

Buffy pushed the cart into the return before getting in the car after Jonah, snapping out of her daze and driving them home.

Not much happened between them leaving the grocery store and Buffy’s dad getting home. It was mostly putting away groceries and pushing Jonah away from the stove because he kept getting in the way. When her dad finally opened the door and attached his keys to the hook, Buffy was finishing up their quesadillas while Jonah set the table for the three of them. “Hey, Buff,” he said upon walking in. “And Jonah!”

“Hey, sir,” Jonah said, and Buffy could sense just the slightest bit of nerves from him. He still got fairly anxious around her father; their interactions so far had gone pretty well, but had been fairly limited. “I hope you don’t mind, but Buffy asked me to stay for dinner.”

“No, that’s great,” he said, sitting down at the head of the table. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Chicken quesadillas. Your favorite,” Buffy said, scooping one off the pan and setting it down on a plate. Though Buffy didn’t like admitting her weaknesses, she tended to be a better cook than baker, and the opposite seemed to be true for Jonah. He’d been (she had to admit) a great help with her dad’s cookies, but when it came to actually _cooking_ , all he did was stumble around in the kitchen and get in the way.

“Wonderful,” he smiled. “Thanks, Buffy.”

She nodded; even though it’d been her night to make dinner, she figured he deserved it, anyway. Judging by the tired eyes and wrinkle lines on his face, he’d had a stressful day, and after what happened with her mom…well, she just tried her best not to make things any worse for him.

Together, the three of them ate their dinner, laughing and talking amongst themselves as they shared stories from their day (which was mostly Jonah recounting everything he’d done with Buffy that day, because apparently it was the only thing he found worth sharing.) It wasn’t until afterwards when Buffy made a move to go to her room with Jonah that her dad actually got serious. “Actually, before you go, there was...something I wanted to talk to you about. Both of you.”

Jonah and Buffy glanced at each other, his confusion meeting her own skeptical expression. “Okay…,” Buffy said, slowly sitting back down in her seat. “What is it?”

Her dad leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a stray napkin on the table. Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if it was a way to prolong talking about whatever was so important or if he actually needed to. “It’s just...I know you’re getting older and that you’ve been dating for a while,” he started, and almost too late, Buffy realized what he was talking about. “I just want to make sure that you’re being careful—”

“ _Dad_ ,” Buffy said, standing up from the table and grabbing Jonah’s hand. “We’re going to my room.”

“Buffy, there’s nothing to be uncomfortable about—”

“I said we’re going!” she said, pulling Jonah down the hall to her room. When they got there, she made a point of leaving her door open so her dad wouldn’t embarrass her even more and ask her to.

She turned to face Jonah, his face flustered and red, and Buffy was sure that if she glanced in a mirror, she’d look the same way. “I’d say sorry, but I don’t think words can _express_ how I feel about what just happened,” she said, because she wasn’t really sure what to say after…well, _that_.

He shook his head, though the embarrassment was still plain on his face. “It’s fine. I’ve heard it from my mom before, too,” he said. Buffy’s eyes widened—in shock or something else, she wasn’t sure—before Jonah started fumbling over his words. “When I started dating Amber…not that we...never mind.”

That was the _last_ thing Buffy wanted to think about, so she brushed the moment away. Jonah moved to sit on her bed, but paused halfway, looking tentative about it. “Is it okay if…?”

“Yes, just... _please_ , forget about it,” she said. He did (albeit apprehensively, but still), laying down on his back and throwing Buffy’s basketball up in the air and catching it when it came back down.

Buffy sat down in the swivel chair at her desk, watching him for a few moments. His eyes were focused on the ball, so she figured it was safe to actually look at him the way she was usually too afraid of being caught of doing. Finally, she said, “Can I ask you something?”

Jonah threw the ball up and glanced at her, absently saying “ow” when it fell down and landed on his stomach. He gave her a nod, seemingly grateful for a distraction from their earlier conversation. “Yeah, what is it?”

She crossed her arms, meeting his intense gaze no matter how uncomfortable it made her feel. “Why did you and Amber stay together for so long?”

It was something that had been at the back of her mind pretty much ever since they’d gotten together; she’d never thought they’d been a good match, and just like the rest of their group, had figured they’d only be together for a couple weeks, a month at the most. And even though she _hated_ talking about Amber, or even thinking about her when it concerned the fact that she’d dated Jonah, she couldn’t help but be curious.

He glanced away, twisting the ball up in the air again. She wondered if he was doing it to deflect from the situation or just because he didn’t find the answer all that important. She wasn’t sure which she found more annoying. “I don’t know,” he said. “At first, we really _did_ like each other, but...after we all stopped being friends, it was out of habit, I guess.”

Buffy felt her eyebrows arch, the beginning of an inquisitive look surely on her face. “Why _then_?”

Jonah shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said again, and Buffy wondered if there was _anything_ that he had a conclusive answer about. “It was almost like staying with Amber was the price I had to pay for choosing her over you guys, you know?” He paused, letting out a sigh, and it reminded Buffy of regret. “I chose Amber. I wasn’t allowed to back out on that, no matter _how_ much I wanted to.”

“We would’ve taken you back, you know,” she said. She wasn’t sure how true it was or not, because even _she_ had to admit she had a stubborn streak, but she would’ve liked to think that eventually, they would’ve become friends again. Though maybe they wouldn’t have—Buffy had barely forgiven him about the whole thing even a month ago, and Cyrus and Andi were _still_ struggling with it after all this time.

Suddenly, the room felt too quiet, the atmosphere around them stilted with static and tension. As if reading her thoughts, Jonah threw the ball up in the air, saying, “Are you sure about that?” He laughed even though it wasn’t funny, catching the basketball as it fell back down again. “Andi _still_ acts like she hates me half the time, and I know Cyrus acts like he’s okay with it, but I can tell it’s not easy for him. And I don’t blame them.”

Buffy wanted to tell him that they just needed time, and maybe an apology to boot, but she knew it wouldn’t matter in a few months, even weeks, because Jonah probably wouldn’t even be a problem for them by that point.

Instead, she got up from her chair and laid down next to him, letting whatever resolve she’d had about distancing herself from him crumble. Jonah smiled for the first time in what felt like forever, rolling the basketball off the bed and turning to face her. His hand came up to the side of her face, and Buffy let him brush away the curl there, ignoring the flutter that sounded in her chest. She decided there was no use in forcing her mind through the battle she was always fighting herself when it came to Jonah, and she leaned into his hand almost unconsciously, letting herself stay in the moment instead of worrying about the inevitable end to their relationship.


	15. Chapter 15

Halloween with the GHC had always been an extensive affair. Andi insisted on dressing up every year, even long after they had left their middle school years behind them. Junior year was no different, regardless of the fact that Walker and TJ were added to the group, and Buffy supposed, Jonah now, too. The days leading up to Halloween were filled with fake cobweb-lined hallways and classrooms decorated like a scene straight from _Halloweentown_. Even though Buffy didn’t particularly care about the holiday, Andi loved it. Well, she loved any excuse to dress up and use the creativity Buffy never seemed to grasp, at least.

The Monday before Halloween, Buffy and Jonah walked up to their lunch table while Andi was dramatically trying to convince Cyrus to do…well, _something_. From the scrunch of his nose, Buffy could tell he wasn’t buying into it. Andi turned towards them when they sat down, brows drawn together like she was trying to tell Buffy without saying it out loud.

Jonah asked, “What would be fun?” and it pulled all the attention at the table towards him. It had been three days since anyone besides Buffy had seen him, and even though he’d become a rather prominent part of their group, it was obviously still weird for Andi and Cyrus to interact with him again. Despite herself, Buffy appreciated that they tried.

“I was _just_ telling Cyrus,” Andi replied, “that we should dress up for Halloween and go to the marathon that the movie theater’s having.”

“Aren’t they showing the _Scream_ movies?” Buffy asked around a mouthful of salad.

“Yes!” Cyrus squeaked. “Which is _exactly_ why I don’t want to go. Murder? Mayhem? Background music that makes your skin crawl? _No_ thank you.”

“Oh, come on, Cyrus, it’s not like it’s real.”

“ _Not_ _helping_ , Buffy.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea, Andi,” Jonah said, smiling in a way that would have made her heart ache all those years ago. He was never going to change, was he?

“Finally!” She threw her hands up, more than willing to accept this win. “Someone agrees with me. So, what about you, Buffy? Are you in?”

Cyrus turned his pleading eyes upon her, looking every bit the kicked puppy dog she knew he was going for. She shrugged, a silent apology in her eyes _._ “I mean…I _did_ kind of want to go to the marathon. You know what? I’m in.”

“I’m in, too,” Jonah added. “I might be a little late, though. Nat and the rest of the team are having a get-together earlier on. Is that okay?” The last part was directed towards Buffy, who went back to picking at her salad more than actually eating it.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He shrugged. “You were pouting.”

She whipped her head around, glaring at him. “No, I wasn’t.” He held up his hands in surrender, giving Andi a knowing look when he thought Buffy hadn’t been looking. She had.

Not one to be forgotten, Cyrus whined. “Does this mean I _have_ to go?”

“Yes,” Andi nodded, no room for an argument. “It’ll be fun, Cyrus. You’ll see. Maybe you could even invite TJ! He’d _never_ say no to you.”

“Andi!”

* * *

After school on Tuesday, Buffy got a call from her manager, asking if she would be willing to cover someone’s shift. Even though it was supposed to be her first day off that week, she accepted, trying to keep in mind that more work hours meant more money on her next paycheck. She shot Jonah a text, letting him know that she wasn’t going to be able to pick him up from Ultimate practice. Her phone showed that he’d read the message but hadn’t answered, and while Buffy would have been annoyed by that before, she figured that he’d simply been called back to the frisbee pitch.

The start of her shift went off without a hitch, the only notable thing being how many people came into the Red Rooster, asking for any CD that had Halloween music on it. By the sixth customer, Buffy started keeping a running tally. She was in a back corner of the store straightening shelves when the bell above the front door chimed.

“Good afternoon,” she called over her shoulder. “Can I help you find anything?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my girlfriend is, would you?” the person asked, which had her turning around so fast her vision spun. Jonah leaned up against the counter, a greasy bag of Chinese takeout next to his elbow.

“Jonah? What are you doing here?” She went to meet him at the counter, standing just on the other side.

He shrugged, slow and easy. “I wanted to come surprise you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at practice right now?” She glanced towards the clock on the wall, squinting just the slightest bit to read the time. “It’s barely five.”

“Nat’s got everything under control.”

“Is that one of the perks of having a co-captain?”

“Definitely.”

“Well,” Buffy said, reaching towards the bag of food, “I don’t go on break until 6:30. If you want to come back later…”

Jonah shook his head, moving around the counter. “Nah, I’ll just wait. Keep you company.”

Buffy turned away, squashing down the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at the smile Jonah so easily gave her. Intent on finishing what she’d started, she headed back to the shelf she had been working on when Jonah walked in. “In that case,” she said, throwing the words over her shoulder, “try not to get in the way.”

* * *

Buffy really should’ve known this was going to be too much to ask of him. Everywhere she went, Jonah trailed after her like a lost puppy, chattering away like it was his job. Buffy was half convinced he thought it was. The time passed quicker than it had before, though, now that Buffy had someone else to talk to besides the slow trickle of customers, and really, Jonah wasn’t _that_ annoying so long as he wasn’t underfoot.

Which was to say, he was a nuisance. As much as Buffy had gotten used to Jonah being around, she still wasn’t used to how much he lacked personal space. When they were surrounded by their friends, it was easy to ignore because it could be written off as him playing the part he’d agreed to. But in moments like these, when their arrangement didn’t matter, when it was just the two of them somewhere Amber would never even _think_ of appearing, the lack of space between them was daunting. No matter how hard she tried to focus on the task at hand—which was setting out the newest shipment of inventory—her mind constantly strayed back to the fact that Jonah was standing close enough to warm the entire left side of her body. This was not the annoying part. The truly annoying part was the fact that recently, Buffy’s heart had taken to racing every time her mind wandered back. Everything was so much easier before that car ride. Now, everything felt weird and stilted and a little dangerous.

At the exact moment Buffy had intended to go to the back room to grab another box of vinyls, Jonah had taken a step to look closer at the shelf Buffy had been stocking, causing the two of them to trip over each other. Instinctively, Jonah reached out to steady Buffy, his hand settling against her back. For a moment, neither of them moved, and even though it was a lie, Buffy told herself that the thrum of her heart was a side effect of falling—or almost falling, at least.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, once Jonah had taken his hand back, “you should sit down until it’s time for my break.” She ignored the way Jonah avoided looking at her, and she ignored how it felt like her back was burning where his hand had come to rest, and she _definitely_ ignored how her heart was still racing even though it had absolutely no right to anymore.

Clearing her head, she went to grab another box of vinyls, working to forget the press of his hand against her. It did not work the way she hoped it would.

* * *

When Buffy returned from the back room, Jonah had taken to sitting criss-cross on the couch by the window, tuning one of the guitars that normally hung on the wall. For the most part, Buffy was able to ignore whatever song he played, allowing herself to get through more work in the short span of time than she’d made in the past hour Jonah had been around. It wasn’t until she tuned in again to go reheat whatever food he’d brought along that she noticed what he was playing.

“Jonah, what are you doing?” she asked, a tone of false sweetness in her voice.

He glanced up at her, brows pulled together in his irritatingly soft form of confusion. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are. You’re playing _Monster Mash_ ,” she said, a shudder of disgust going through her. Since the beginning of the week, her English teacher had played nothing but some Halloween playlist that seemed to consist entirely of that song. It didn’t help that all anyone seemed to want to purchase that week at the Red Rooster was any CD that featured it, most likely for whatever Halloween party they would be hosting for the holiday. It was starting to drive Buffy crazy.

To his credit, he did stop strumming. “What’s wrong with _Monster Mash_?” Jonah asked with a confused smile.

“Everything,” she said. “It’s the _only_ song anyone’s been playing all week. It’s like when it’s Christmas and all anyone listens to is _Jingle Bells_.”

“ _Jingle Bells is_ a great song,” he pointed out.

“It is when it’s not played thirty-seven times in a row,” Buffy said dryly. She moved to the back of the room, calling out behind her, “Anyway, _please_ be playing something else by the time I come back. I’m not sure _how_ much more my sanity can take.” And with that, she went to the back and began heating up the takeout Jonah brought.

When Buffy returned, Jonah was playing a different song. She set Jonah’s takeout box down on the table in the center of the seating area, sitting beside him on the couch. She picked through her container of broccoli beef, leaning against the arm rest so she could pull her feet up beneath her. Jonah paused his guitar playing to eat lunch with her, and now that Buffy _wasn’t_ spending all her energy to focus on shelving anything, it was easier for them to fall into a conversation that wasn’t completely one-sided.

Buffy set her takeout container on the table, wiping the grease from the box off on her pants. They were an old pair that needed to be washed again, anyway. “What was that?”

Mouth full of chow mein, Jonah blinked back at her. “What was what?”

“Oh, _gross_ , don’t talk with your mouth full. What are you, three?”

He swallowed, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You asked me a question!”

“You didn’t have to answer right away!” Buffy shook her head, partially out of disgust, but mostly out of...well, _she_ wasn’t going to call it fondness, but someone else might’ve.

“Anyway, what were you talking about?” He got up to throw away his empty container, taking Buffy’s when she reached out to hand it over.

“The song you were playing. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” To her surprise, Jonah looked... _embarrassed_. He picked up the guitar again, fiddling with the strings as if they could have fallen out of tune in the few moments he’d been away. “Jonah?”

“It’s nothing,” he answered, very pointedly not looking at Buffy. “Just something I’ve been working on. It’s not that great.”

“Does it have any lyrics? Or is it not there yet?” She was genuinely curious, actually. Buffy knew that Jonah used to write music back in middle school, mostly to impress Andi when _that_ had been a thing. She never thought it continued much farther out of that, though.

“No. I mean, yeah. It does. Have lyrics.” He pressed his hand flat against the edge of the guitar, staring at the instrument in a way that suggested he was trying to avoid looking at Buffy.

She scrunched her eyebrows at this, but decided it wasn’t worth asking about. “Can I hear it?”

“You want to?” Jonah asked in disbelief.

“Well, yeah,” she said. She tried not to sound like the slight hurt she felt at the question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged, shifting his eyes up at her. “I don’t know...I honestly didn’t think you’d care.”

The words stung like a slap to the face. The problem was Buffy _always_ cared, but she pretended she didn’t, especially when it came to...well, when it came to Jonah, or any of the other boys she’d loved. It was just easier that way. If you didn’t show how you really felt most of the time, you were untouchable. Or so she thought, anyway. If she were _truly_ untouchable, she wouldn’t be here, feeling an uproar of hurt and guilt. “Well, I do,” she said. She shifted in her seat, not because she was uncomfortable, but because she’d have something to do other than look at Jonah. “So, will you play it for me?”

Jonah seemed to think for a second before giving her a slow nod. He spent a moment to get sorted, and then another in silence. “Could you like...close your eyes or something?”

Buffy laughed a little, thinking that he was joking. From the look on his face, she could tell he wasn’t. “Wait, seriously? You used to play in front of me all the time. You _just_ did.” 

He faltered, suddenly uneasy again. “This is different, Buffy. Just—please?”

She let out a sigh, finally letting them flutter shut. “Fine.”

“Are they closed?”

“ _Jonah_.”

“Okay, okay.” Hesitantly, he picked up the melody he’d been playing earlier. It was a soft thrum that settled over the room, cozy in a way that a Tuesday afternoon usually wasn’t.

When Jonah started singing, Buffy’s heart skipped. And then it skipped again. It had been years since the last time Buffy had heard anything Jonah had written, and this song left her feeling a different kind of raw, different from the times she’d heard him sing countless songs to Andi.

At the end of it, when the last note from the guitar had rung out into the room and Jonah ran out of words to sing, the two of them sat in the silence. Buffy opened her eyes, feeling like she was seeing Jonah in a whole new light. The sun was beginning to set outside, and the light filtering in through the windows caught on Jonah’s hair, turning it to gold. It felt like she had forgotten how to breathe. Was it possible to forget how to breathe?

Jonah, bless him, broke the silence. “So? What do you think?”

She wanted to ask him if the song was about her, or them, or both. Because it felt like they were back at Lookout Point, sitting in Jonah’s traffic hazard of a car rather than in the Red Rooster in the middle of the afternoon. Buffy wanted to ask him a lot of things, like if he felt the shift in everything, too. But her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and anyway, the chances of her actually being right were so slim that she didn’t even want to risk the embarrassment. “It’s beautiful, Jonah.”

The nervous smile he wore did nothing to calm the roar of blood in her ears. If anything, it encouraged her heart on its way to beating right out of her chest. “You really think so?”

It felt like there was a spell around them—if either of them moved, spoke, or breathed too fast, it would all come undone. Buffy wasn’t sure how to feel about that, especially because she wasn’t even sure if she _wanted_ things to stop feeling the way they did. Rather than dealing with the can of worms that would inevitably open up if she were to follow that train of thought, Buffy nodded once, and then changed the conversation. “Have you figured out what you’re dressing up as for Halloween?”

Jonah set the guitar aside before turning back to face Buffy. Pulling his feet up onto the couch between them, he scrunched his nose at the question, shaking his head. “I’m not really a costume guy.” Which was something Buffy should have known, actually. Hadn’t that been a point of contention between Jonah and Andi back in middle school?

“Oh...right, I remember. Middle school. You bailed on Andi’s Mount Rushmore costume,” she said. She wasn’t disappointed, really. But she wondered if that was how she sounded to Jonah, because as soon as the words were out of her mouth, he was tripping over himself to give an explanation she didn’t ask for.

“It’s just…,” Jonah supplied, “I don’t really see the point of it, you know? Halloween is just another day. And besides, I’m not creative enough to come up with something really cool, and I don’t want to be just another dollar store pirate or whatever.”

Buffy nodded like she understood, even though she didn’t. Costumes weren’t _that_ deep. Leave it to Jonah Beck to complicate something so easy. She said, “Well, _I’m_ dressing up. Because it’s fun. You _do_ know what fun is, right?”

Jonah rolled his eyes, nudging at Buffy’s knee with his shoe. Buffy nudged back, laughing, and for once, she didn’t immediately pull away. “Yes, I know what _fun_ is. What are you going as?”

“Buffy.”

“You’re going as...yourself?”

The confused pull of his brow nearly sent Buffy into a laughing fit. “ _No_ ,” she laughed. “I’m dressing up as _Buffy_ . You know, the vampire slayer?” From the blank look on his face, he most certainly _didn’t_ know. “Jonah, _how_ have you _never_ heard of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_? It’s, like, one of the best shows ever.”

He shrugged, a lazy movement of his shoulders. “I’m more of a _Walking Dead_ kind of guy.”

“God, you really are a boy, aren’t you?”

“What else would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Buffy said. “Normal?”

The noise of offense Jonah made was almost worth the flutter making a home in Buffy’s chest. _Almost_.

* * *

Wednesday at lunch, Andi was practically buzzing with energy. She spent nearly the entire time talking about how it had taken almost the entire month to make her costume, because the details had to be _just right_ or no one would understand who she was. When Andi finally caved and showed the group a picture, Buffy didn’t have the heart to tell her that even with all the detail, she still couldn’t figure it out.

“That’s...so pretty,” she said instead of trying to make a guess.

Jonah was not as subtle in his confusion. “Who are you supposed to be?”

The glare Andi leveled over the table was much colder than anything Buffy had seen in a while. “Snow White.”

“ _That’s_ not Snow White.” He was digging a grave again, though Buffy couldn’t tell if he was aware of it or not. Most of the time, he didn’t seem to be. “That’s like...Queen Victoria or something.”

“It’s what she _should_ have looked like, if the artists had bothered being accurate. What are _you_ going as? Let me guess, nothing, right? Still not a _costume guy_?”

Ever the mediator, Buffy broke them up, overly aware that the two of them were fast approaching an argument that went beyond the surface when Cyrus shot her an anxious look over the table. “Andi, is Walker joining us at the movies?”

Turning her attention back to her friend, Andi frowned. When she spoke again, her voice was less angry, and more disappointed. “No, he can’t,” she sighed. “His dad needs his help at the store tonight, I guess.”

“Oh, I’m sorry."

“It’s whatever. He said that he’ll try to get his dad to let him go early, but I doubt _that_ will happen.”

They fell into silence, awkwardly moving food around their plates in a guise to look like it was being eaten. Cyrus spoke up next, doing his best to dispel the weird air that had settled around them. “TJ said he can join us, if that’s still okay with you guys.”

Both Andi and Buffy turned to face him, thankful for the reprieve. “Of course it’s still okay.” Andi said, beaming at him like he’d just trusted her with a huge secret. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Cyrus shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just the messenger. I’ll let him know next period.”

“Is _he_ dressing up?” Buffy asked, more as a joke than anything, but when Cyrus looked up and away, she was instantly more curious. “ _Cy_?”

“It’s a surprise,” he replied. “I’m not supposed to say.”  

Buffy nodded, combing through a list of costume options TJ would possibly bother using. She couldn’t think of many. “Consider us surprised.”

* * *

After school, Buffy got a text from Jonah, letting her know that he was driving with Natalie in order to help her set up the party for their Ultimate friends. Buffy replied with a text of assurance before tugging her backpack onto her shoulders and following the wave of high schoolers out to the parking lot. During study hall, Andi had sent out a text to their group chat, letting their friends know that they’d be meeting up at the theater at five o’clock—half an hour before the movie marathon started—so they could get tickets and seats without having to rush. This meant Buffy had an hour and a half to get ready before heading over to the theater, not that she would take the entire time.

As soon as she got home, she’d dropped her bag on the living room floor and flopped onto the couch, allowing herself a moment to scroll through her phone without worrying about having anything else to do. For once, she didn’t actually _have_ anything else to do. Which…was weird, actually. The teachers had been merciful and not given any homework for the night, since they all knew no one would complete it anyway. Her costume took less than fifteen minutes to throw on, and the drive to the theater was even less than that. Buffy blew at a stray curl that had fallen in her face, suddenly bored. Even Jonah wasn’t bothering her as much as he usually did, probably because he was so preoccupied with the party he was setting up that he just didn’t have the time. Without anyone else around to witness it, Buffy was actually willing to admit that she _missed_ him. The past couple of weeks had been so weird between them, and Buffy was partially worried that she was the only one who felt any different. What they were doing was never meant to feel so real. She didn’t like having enough down time to actually _think_ about how she felt, because it was getting too close to how things felt back in eighth grade, and that was shaky ground.

Everything, lately, had been shaky ground.

* * *

The first movie in the _Scream_ marathon started at just past 5:30. Mr. Driscoll dropped Buffy off on his way into work, allowing her to meet up with Andi in the ticket line, which snaked around the building and down the block. When she arrived, she made sure to comment on how _authentic_ Andi’s dress was, though she herself did not know enough about the actual time period _Snow White_ occurred in order to really appreciate it. Andi practically preened underneath her praise, her smile so wide, Buffy was sure her cheeks ached.

“Look at you!” Andi said when she’d settled enough to actively participate in their conversation again. “You look like you stepped right out of the TV.”

“That was the goal,” Buffy laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, “If you’re going to be Buffy Summers, you might as well do it right.”

The two of them picked up four tickets, two for them and two for Cyrus and TJ, who had been running late due to some kind of wardrobe malfunction Cyrus didn’t want to talk about. When the boys finally caught up with them in the theater lobby, they offered to grab the snacks and drinks while Andi and Buffy held seats for their group inside the theater, which was sure to already be filling up. Sharing a knowing glance when TJ and Cyrus walked off, hands too close to be friendly, Buffy and Andi made their way into the theater in search of an empty row. Buffy shrugged off her jacket when they found one, laying it to rest on the seat beside to her so that Jonah would have a seat with their group whenever he decided to show up.

With the lights down, it was easy to get caught up in the film, awful production quality and all. Slasher films weren’t exactly Buffy’s forte, but she was enjoying the time with her friends nonetheless. And regardless of all his protesting earlier in the week, Cyrus appeared to be the most into the film. He jolted in his seat at all the right parts, leaning close to TJ who sat to his left whenever the killer appeared on screen. His reactions were nearly as entertaining as the actual film, though Buffy did her best to pay attention to the screen.

During the end credits of the first movie, Buffy pulled her phone out from the pocket of her red leather jacket, checking to see if Jonah had messaged her. There was no notifications on the screen, and her heart fell just the slightest bit. She sighed softly, more a rush of air blown through her nose than anything else, repeating to herself that Jonah would show up whenever he was done with Natalie and the rest of their Ultimate friends. She couldn’t fault him for spending time with them, since they’d had the plans before the movie marathon was even brought up. But still—her heart ached just the slightest bit. She shot off a quick text, asking if he had an approximate time to when he’d be heading over to the theater, but the lights started to dim again before she received any answer. Stomach falling, she tucked her phone back into her pocket, forcing her mind back to the movie.

* * *

Standing in Natalie’s kitchen, Jonah leaned up against the countertop, sipping soda out of a plastic Halloween themed cup. His phone had died a while back, and a tiny knot of anxiety had spun itself into his stomach at the prospect of not being able to let Buffy know that he was running late. He felt bad at having to miss the first movie, and by now, he didn’t even know which showing they were in.

The clock on the oven read 8:15, and though the party was still going strong around him, Jonah figured it was time for him to leave. He headed over to the living room to say goodbye to his friends, begging off when a chorus of whines ring out.

“You’re leaving already?” Natalie asked. She was sitting on the floor in a circle with a couple other people, stack of Uno cards in the middle of them all.

Jonah nodded, scrubbing a hand over the nape of his neck to relieve some of the tension he’d been feeling. “Yeah, I promised Buff that I would meet her and some of our friends over at the movies tonight.”

“Oh, right! They’re having that horror movie marathon thing, huh? I didn’t peg them to be into that kind of thing.”

“There’s always a first time for everything, right? Anyway, I’ll see you guys later.” With that, Jonah grabbed his jacket from the coatrack in the hallway and headed out to his car.

* * *

When he got to the theater, the lobby was relatively empty. He bought a ticket to the _Scream_ marathon, taking the ripped piece of paper from the ticket booth clerk when they tore it off the dispenser. Buffy had sent him a picture of the aisle they were sitting in earlier in the night, but with his phone dead he couldn’t check their messages, so he pushed open the double doors leading into theater four and hoped that his group would be easy enough to find in the dark.

On the screen, a girl with brown hair cut into a bob was running away from the masked killer, stumbling over her feet as she fled around a corner in the kitchen. Jonah glanced away from the scene to search for Buffy, breathing a sigh of relief when he spotted her head of curls towards the middle of the theater. He climbed the steps towards her, noting the fact that she had put her jacket on the seat beside her to save the space for him. His heart warmed a little at the thought, and he couldn’t help the smile that lit up his face. He reached over to tap Buffy on the shoulder, to let her know that he was there, not prepared for the way her whole body tensed at his touch. She cut her attention over to him, visibly relaxing when she realized it was just Jonah.

“Hey,” he whispered, sitting down in the seat besides her when she moved her jacket away. “Did I scare you?”

“No.” Buffy hissed.

Jonah nodded, seemingly convinced, and turned his attention to the screen.

Sneaking a glance out of the corner of her eye, Buffy noted that Jonah looked _different_ . When they were talking about it earlier, he claimed that he wasn’t going to dress up as anything, but now it was obvious that he wasn’t himself, at least. There was gel in his hair that made his hair stick up, the front strands so long that they fell against his forehead in Clark Kent curls. And the leather jacket that stretched over his shoulders wasn’t something Buffy thought he would even own. But the theater was too dark for her to really be able to tell what, or _who,_ he had dressed up as, and he was so enthralled with the screen that she couldn’t bring herself to ask what he’d chosen for his costume. She went back to watching the movie, in between watching Jonah, and made a note to ask him during intermission.

* * *

It wasn’t until the group had filed out of the theater and back into the lobby that the rest of their friends noticed Jonah had arrived.

“Hey!” Cyrus said, gesturing to Jonah’s outfit. “You dressed up!”

And he _had_ . In the yellow light of the lobby, Buffy could finally tell what costume Jonah had chosen, and the realization made her heart leap into her throat. She should have noticed sooner, really. The gelled hair, the leather jacket, the white button up with the first three buttons undone just enough to show the top of his chest—Jonah was dressed up as a character from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ . But not just any character, he was dressed up as _Angel_ , one of Buffy’s love interests. Which meant that he and Buffy _matched_. Her heart beat a little bit faster.

“What happened to not being a costume guy?” Buffy asked. She’d meant for it to be lighthearted and joking, but her voice edged on the border of just a little too awed.

He smiled at her, and it made her heart ache. “I wanted to surprise you,” he said, which only made her heart ache more. Why was he like this? Why did he have to be so sweet, when everything about this was built on a lie? Why did he have to make Buffy’s stomach twist around on a rollercoaster when she knew that he was just going to leave again? She hated it, hated him. The worst part of it all was that she knew that was a lie.

When Buffy didn’t say anything in response to his comment, Jonah reached out to take her hand, tugging her close. She allowed herself to be slotted in against his side, feeling too warm for comfort. For a split second, Buffy caught Andi looking at them, and she couldn’t tell if she was angry or hurt or disgusted. So far, Andi hadn’t said much to Buffy about Jonah beyond her remark that he was a backstabber. It felt like that memory resurfaced at the worst of times, now being one of them. Buffy closed her eyes, willing to ignore _whatever_ look Andi was giving Jonah now. Whatever she was still holding on to, if it was still what happened back in middle school, that was something Buffy had finally learned to let go. Maybe it was time for Andi to do the same.

They moved to stand in line for refills on their popcorn buckets and soda cups, and while they waited to reach the counter, Jonah asked Cyrus what he dressed up as. Cyrus laughed, a little bashful, and said that he and TJ were a paired costume. Summer and salt, _somersault_ , he explained, when Jonah’s eyebrows pulled together. It was some inside joke between them, and even though Jonah still didn’t really get it, he told them it was creative anyway.

Buffy suggested that they get back to their seats, since the third movie was going to be starting soon, and the rest of them nodded, filing back into the theater after her and Jonah. And if he slipped his hand into hers in the dark of the theater while the movie played, well, she wasn’t going to pull away.

* * *

After the final movie ended, Buffy was practically fighting to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t used to staying up so late on a school night, and the effects of it were really starting to make themselves known. All she really wanted to do was go back home and fall into bed, but Andi practically begged them to get food after the movies, and Buffy couldn’t bring herself to say no. Everyone piled into their respective cars, driving the short distance to the local Denny’s, which was pretty much the only place open so late at night.

Sitting down in a booth, Buffy rested her head on Jonah’s shoulder. He tucked her closer to his side, idly tracing circles over her arm. Even with the layer of fabric between his hand and her arm, the touch still burned. Buffy wasn’t sure she would ever get used to feeling like she was always being lit on fire. Though, she guessed, she wouldn’t actually _have_ to get used to the feeling. It wasn’t like what she and Jonah had was going to last forever, anyway.

When their waitress appeared at the edge of the table to take their order, the both of them ordered together. They decided to split a large chocolate milkshake and basket of fries, because Buffy claimed it was too late for her to be eating anything of real sustenance. TJ rolled his eyes at this, parroting back her words in a voice two octaves higher. The two of them had gotten better at getting along, really, their friendship being a weird mix of fierce loyalty and cutting remarks. It worked for them, and as long as they didn’t go back to hating each other’s guts, no one else in their friend group was going to comment on it.

For his part, TJ ordered something for him and Cyrus to split—a stack of pancakes that was more dessert than breakfast. Their plate was delivered to the table covered in caramel syrup and topped with whipped cream and iced cream. Just thinking of all the sugar that was bound to be in the dish was enough to make Buffy’s teeth ache, but she sipped away at her milkshake, anyway.

* * *

They left the restaurant soon after they finished. Andi had her jacket tucked over her arm, looking after Buffy and Jonah as they walked beside each other. “Buffy, do you need a ride?”

Buffy shook her head, “No, it’s okay. I’ll drive with Jonah.” She didn’t miss the split second purse of Andi’s lips before she turned away, but it was late and she was tired and _really,_ it didn’t matter. Jonah laced their hands together again, seemingly an unconscious habit. How could such a small gesture set all of Buffy’s nerves on end?

They walked to Jonah’s car in silence, Jonah opening the passenger door for Buffy before rounding the hood to climb into the driver’s seat. He pushed the key into the ignition, the car roaring to life beneath them. A top-forty pop song played from the stereo, and Jonah rolled the windows down as he drove, letting the night air fill the cab.

If she could stay here forever, spending late nights with Jonah in his broken down death trap of a car, she would. Because even though she would never admit it out loud—to herself _or_ anyone else—this place made her feel safe, as crazy as that probably was. Though, it was less about her feeling safe in the very _un_ safe car and more about her feeling safe around Jonah. It was always about Jonah. Buffy was broken out of her internal musings when Jonah cleared his throat “Hey, Buff?”

She turned to face him better, gaze scanning over his silhouette as he drove. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.”

A smile broke over Jonah’s face, and for a handful of seconds, Buffy let herself adore it. She let herself bask in the fact that she’d been able to make Jonah smile so much lately. Then she added, “Go ahead.”

“Okay, okay. Just—are Cyrus and TJ, like, talking?” The pause before his question had Buffy rolling her eyes, because it was obvious what he meant.

“Of course they’re talking, Jonah. They’re friends.”

“No, that’s not what I meant! I mean, like, are they _talking_ , talking. You know, like, dating?”

“Cyrus and TJ? No, they aren’t.”

“But I thought—never mind, I never was good at reading a situation.” He turned all of his attention back to the road ahead of them. It was nearly two in the morning now and the streets were basically empty, especially as they made the turn off of the main road towards the residential streets they both lived on.

“They aren’t dating,” Buffy repeated, resting her head against the car window. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh,” Jonah said. “Okay.”

They drove in silence some more, the only noise around them being the music on the radio. Then Jonah piped up again, “Do you think they’ll ever get together?”

“It’s only a matter of time,” Buffy answered, the honest truth. Both boys had been dancing around the fact that they liked each other for _years_ ; it was bound to happen at some point.

“I bet they will. By the end of the year, probably. I mean, did you see the way TJ was looking at Cyrus all night? He was _practically_ over the moon.”

Buffy huffed a laugh. _Yeah_ , she thought, _me too_ . “ _No_ way,” she said. “We’d be lucky to see them get together by the end of senior year.”

Jonah cut a glance towards her, a careful smirk on his lips. “Is that a bet, Driscoll?”

“What’s on the line?”

“Twenty bucks.”

“Oh, you’re on.” It was nice, Buffy realized, being able to banter with Jonah like this. Not having to worry about what any of their friends were thinking because it was just the two of them. She wanted to commit the feeling to memory—being happy in a way that left her skin warm. She wanted to remember this Jonah, the one who made her laugh as often as he made her roll her eyes, because this was the Jonah she was falling in love with. She didn’t know if she could ever see him the same way once their deal was done. She didn’t know if she wanted to, however much it scared her otherwise.

The hum of the engine beneath her feet and the music rolling through the speakers lulled Buffy to sleep. The exhaustion had gotten the better of her, and as soon as she stopped talking and let her eyes slide shut, she was out like a light. Jonah didn’t notice until he pulled the car into her driveway, turning in his seat to wish her a good night before going their separate ways.

His heart ached at the sight of her, fast asleep in the passenger seat. She looked so much younger like that, without the dip between her brows that came from her constantly furrowing them, without the frown that so often curved her mouth down. Like this, Buffy looked content, breathing easy in a way she never could when she was awake.

Jonah did not have the heart to wake her. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he turned the radio up just a little bit, switched on the Challenger’s heating, and leaned his own seat back. Before he shut his eyes, he set a thirty minute timer to wake the both of them so they didn’t spend the whole night in his car, then he settled in on his side facing Buffy and let the sleep he’d been fighting take over. It might have been a waste of gas, but that was fine. He would spend all of his money to refill the tank if it meant they could stay like this for just a moment longer. The night was too good to end.


	16. Chapter 16

It was over a week after Halloween that Buffy was in her room, eating a bowl of cereal and reading one of her thrift store romance novels. It was often an occurrence for her to do so—her dad usually had a full shift at the office on Saturdays and it was a rare moment that her friends weren’t off doing something whenever she was free. So there she was, balancing her bowl of soggy Cocoa Pebbles in her lap while trying to read the dog-eared pages of her book.

Of course, this didn’t last long, like most good things. Buffy wasn’t even a third of the way finished when her door swung open, a familiar sweep of brown hair, glinting green eyes, and a smile that rivaled the sun standing in the entrance. Least to say, Jonah had made yet _another_ one of his many surprise visits, causing Buffy to emit a groan.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, trying to sound more annoyed than she really was. The truth was that she couldn’t bring herself to be bothered about most things Jonah did anymore—sure, he still annoyed her an ungodly amount daily, but somewhere along the line, that irritation had shifted into a strange mix of eye rolls and endearment.

“I wanted to hang out,” he said, smile tilting up in a way that had Buffy glancing away. _It’s better not to look at it directly_ , she told herself. “And it looks like I picked a good time! You’re _clearly_ not busy.”

“Really? This—” she said, gesturing to the cereal and book in her lap, “—is _exactly_ what I’d call busy.”

He shook his head, still smiling, and Buffy wondered what it would take for him to stop. “Come on, Buff. I won’t distract you from your reading if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You know how I know that’s a lie?”

“How?”

“Because you’re the most distracting person I’ve ever met,” she said. His eyes lit up, and immediately, she found herself shutting him down. “I did _not_ meant that as a compliment.”

“I’ll still take it as one,” he smiled, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I’m _pretty_ sure that’s not how it works,” Buffy said. Jonah flopped down on her bed, nearly spilling the bowl of cereal in her lap, and she glared as she set it down on her nightstand. “Go ahead and make yourself at home,” she said sarcastically.

“Well, if you insist,” he said, grinning up at her. He picked the book up from her lap, and already, Buffy could feel the protest rising in her throat. “Is this one of your romance novels?”

She rolled her eyes, more to hide her embarrassment over having been caught than anything else. She ripped it out of his hands, tucking it underneath her pillow. “I guess you’ll never find out,” she said.

Jonah gave her a pleading look, the kind that had her chest doing flips and somersaults she hadn’t been aware it’d been capable of making before Jonah Beck. (Which was kind of scary to think about, how just one person had that much power over her, power that no one in her life had ever possessed and probably never would again.) It made her feelings for Jonah all the more terrifying to her, and she tried her best to suppress them. “Come on, Buffy, don’t be like that. I _promise_ not to make fun of you.”

“Somehow, I feel like that holds even less weight than your promise not to distract me,” Buffy said, which was practically none at all. As good of intentions as Jonah had, they almost never seemed to work out the way he seemed to think they would, and this time around was definitely no exception.

“Seriously,” he said, and Buffy could tell he meant it. He pulled the book out from underneath her pillow and handed it back to her. “Why don’t you read to me?” he asked, not even a trace of teasing on his face.

It was the simplest question, really, but it left Buffy reeling in awe. _So much for trying to suppress my feelings_ , she thought to herself, just barely managing to mask the expression on her face. “You want me to read to you?” she repeated, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah,” he said, giving her a classic Jonah smile. She wondered how many people had been dazzled by that very same smile, or if it was even possible to be immune to it. She had a feeling that it wasn’t. “I told you I wouldn’t distract you, remember? That way, we can still hang out _and_ you can read your book.”

The way he said it reminded her of how he’d bargained with her about going to dinner with his mom for the first time. Except this time, it was in no way, shape, or form related to their contract. This was just Jonah and Buffy, unfiltered. And even though she preferred them like this, the whole situation struck more fear into her heart than she knew Jonah Beck should have any agency of doing.

Finally, after giving a long-suffering sigh, Buffy said, “Do you want me to start from the beginning?”

Jonah shook his head, eyes glinting in a way that showed that he knew he’d won. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

Opening the folded corners of her book, Buffy began to read. Jonah did _not_ figure it out, stopping Buffy every page or so to ask a question about what was happening. Trying her best to maintain her patience, she did so, even when he asked her blatantly obvious questions or ones he’d already asked before.

It was towards the end of one of the chapters that Jonah asked, “So, this girl likes her best friend, but he still has feelings for his ex?”

Buffy resisted the urge to groan, instead settling for an eye roll. “ _Yes_. We’ve established this _several_ times.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jonah said. “Keep going.”

She did, only getting another paragraph before dropping her book again. “Why’d you stop?” Jonah asked.

“Because I _know_ you have another question,” she said. “I can feel you fidgeting beside me.”

“I—no, I’m not,” Jonah said. “I’m just getting comfortable.” She gave him a long look before he broke. “Okay, so he dated her other best friend and that’s his ex?”

“Yes.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Jonah asked, wrinkling his nose.

Buffy blinked in blank surprise. “Didn’t you?”

He sat up, angling his head at her in confusion, which really should’ve been a given for Buffy considering everything. “When?”

“When you broke up with Andi for Amber,” she said, stifling the scoff that otherwise would’ve accompanied the statement.

“Okay...but that was different,” Jonah said.

“ _How_ is that different? Because the way I see it, it’s the exact same thing,” Buffy replied. It came out a lot more accusatory than she had meant for it to be, and she couldn’t help the frown that pulled at her lips when he lowered his gaze. “I mean, what makes what you did any different?”

His eyes found hers again, and Buffy didn’t know that green could ever be that warm. “Because I had good intentions.”

She broke their gaze, unfolding and refolding the corner of her page. “Good intentions aren’t everything, Jonah.” And really, Buffy of all people should know that when it came to Jonah Beck. He never meant to hurt anyone, hadn’t meant to hurt Buffy when he kissed her in the seventh grade, hadn’t meant to hurt Andi when he chose Amber over her, hadn’t meant to hurt all of them when they stopped being friends. But he had, and he continued to do so, like whenever he held Buffy’s hand to calm her nerves, or left notes in her locker, or gave her that special smile that sometimes she’d swear he reserved just for her. It all hurt, even if he hadn’t willed it to, even if he didn’t realize it. “Like how you _intended_ not to distract me from reading, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

Jonah leaned away from her, either in surprise or hurt, she didn’t know. “Sorry,” he said. “Maybe you’re right, though. Maybe they aren’t everything. Cause either way, it still ends in hurt, right?”

Buffy nodded, avoiding his ploring eyes. She hated how it felt like he always had the ability to read her mind, even being as oblivious as he was. “Right,” she said.

Jonah dropped his head in her lap, and at that point, Buffy didn’t even have it in her to protest. She went back to reading her book, both of them becoming so engrossed in it that it was several more pages before Jonah interrupted her again. “Why’d you stop?” he asked.

“What, reading? Because you asked me a question,” she said.

“No, not that. Why’d you stop playing with my hair?” he asked.

Buffy used her finger as a bookmark before glancing down at him, and surely enough, her hand was tangled in Jonah’s wave of brown locks. “I didn’t even know that I _was_ ,” Buffy admitted. She’d been so immersed in reading that anything else had happened as an afterthought.

“Oh. Well, you should keep doing it,” he smiled. “It feels nice.”

Buffy fought the butterflies that made a home in her stomach. Instead of arguing with him the way she normally would’ve, she said nothing, picking her book back up and starting where they left off with a hand combing through Jonah’s hair.

“Elena was tired of being scared of her feelings for Alex. She was tired of having to hide them all the time, worrying about what he’d think if he knew the truth. Overall, Elena was just tired, tired of it all, and before she could stop herself, she grabbed Alex by the collar, pulling him towards her…” She paused, pulling Jonah’s hair away from his forehead the way she had been doing for nearly an hour.

From under the edge of the book, she could see Jonah open his eyes, giving her a confused look. “Did you stop because you thought I was asleep? Because I’m not, I want to know what happens next!”

His enthusiasm was more endearing than Buffy knew it had any right to be, a smile overtaking her features. “No, it’s not that. I was...thinking about something.”

Somehow, Jonah’s interest seemed to be even more piqued by that, eyebrows raised in question. “Okay...what were you thinking about?”

Just the thought of telling Jonah made Buffy feel embarrassed all over, but she pushed through it as awkward as her question was. “Just...why did you kiss me?” It took almost everything in her not to break eye contact and bury her face into a pillow; talking about anything real between them was always weirdly scary for her, and Buffy was _not_ someone who was easily scared. Unless it was about things like feelings and relationships and love, things that seemed to be so easy for everyone else. Things that seemed to be so easy for someone like Jonah Beck.

He gave her an amused look, one that only made her further regret asking. “Which time?”

She rolled her eyes, unable to hold back her annoyance this time. “In seventh grade. When we were walking home from your frisbee meet.” The amused look dropped from his face, and he glanced away. “I mean, we both know you liked Andi or Amber or whoever at the time, so why did you kiss me?”

He was still avoiding her gaze, eyes fixated on the book in her hands. “Why me?” she asked. The intensity of her words made him look up again, face vulnerable in a way that Buffy wasn’t used to. He glanced up at her through his eyelashes, like even that was almost unbearable.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” Jonah asked. Buffy nodded, even though she knew it probably wasn’t true. “I didn’t have a crush on Andi _or_ Amber...or at least, not then. I liked you.”

The stir of emotions that Buffy felt at the words was overwhelming, a mix of confusion and surprise and skepticism that she really hadn’t been expecting. “You liked _me_?” she asked. Jonah promptly buried his face into her pillow, and Buffy couldn’t be more relieved that he was the embarrassed one for once. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He grumbled, peeking up at her just a little. “ _Because_ I didn’t think you’d ever like me back. I mean, you acted like you didn’t even like me as a friend most of the time. But that night we were walking home...I don’t know. I thought maybe…”

Buffy’s breathing shallowed in her throat, catching short. “Maybe what?” Asking the question, Buffy thought she’d never been more scared in her life.

Jonah paused, finally looking up at her again. His face was raw and hurt, like he was tearing apart his old wounds all over again. “Maybe you felt the same way.”

* * *

The night had been a chilly one, cold enough that Buffy had to wrap her jacket around herself just to stay warm. The weather didn’t seem to deter Jonah in the slightest—so far, he had yet to shut up about his frisbee meet, rambling on about the plays and other things that Buffy didn’t really understand and wasn’t sure she wanted to. She might’ve if it were Andi or Cyrus—but this was Jonah Beck, and she and Jonah were just that: her and Jonah. They weren’t exactly the best of friends—sure, they cared about each other a normal amount and shared their grape popsicles at lunch and walked home together after their many trips to The Spoon, but those were normal friend things. Things that wouldn’t be questioned as more by anyone else, including themselves.

Jonah was still making wild hand gestures, a big smile on his face as he continued to tell his story. “And did you see the way I threw that frisbee to—Buffy, are you listening?”

She must’ve zoned out, which, really, could she even be blamed for it when they were talking about _frisbee_? “Not really,” she said, only realizing just how rude it sounded a beat later.

“Oh,” Jonah said, and Buffy swore she’d never seen the light in his eyes die so fast.

“Wait, no, I’m...I’m sorry,” she said, carefully putting a hand on his arm, and he seemed to freeze. “I just...I don’t really know a _lot_ about frisbee.”

Immediately, his face bounced back into its ever-present smile. “Really? Buffy Driscoll not knowing everything about a sport? I’m surprised.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away. “Shut up,” she said. “Frisbee’s not even a real sport, anyway.” She said it in a way that he’d know she was joking, and luckily, he wasn’t hurt by it. She wasn’t sure just _how_ much apologizing to Jonah Beck she could do in one night.

“It’s more of a sport than track,” he shot back, still smiling.

“Track isn’t a real sport, huh?” Buffy asked, narrowing her eyes. “A grape popsicle says I can race you back to your house.”

Jonah smiled like he’d won the lottery, and looking back it now, Buffy guessed that in some ways, they had. “Deal.”

Together, they sped down the pavement, leaving Shadyside and everything else behind them. It wasn’t a close race by any means—to be fair, Jonah _had_ just finished a frisbee meet—but it was obvious either way that Buffy would’ve beaten him.

“Looks like I win,” she said proudly. They were standing at the end of Jonah’s driveway, both of them panting from being out of breath—Jonah more so considering Buffy was used to running the distance and she was better at not showing it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jonah said, but he was smiling. He might’ve given her a playful eye roll, too, but Buffy was too busy gloating to pay much attention.

“I guess that grape popsicle’s all mine tomorrow,” she said, a smirk on her face.

Jonah straightened up, pushing a tangle of hair away from his face. Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the sight—his hair was getting too long to stay put the way he wanted it to, a strand always managing to fall in his eyes. (Not that Buffy had been paying attention to him or anything, because she most certainly _hadn’t_ been. She had just...noticed. It was normal to take observations of people that were just friends, wasn’t it?) Finally, he said, “I actually like it better when we share it.”

The statement took her by surprise, but she didn’t let him see it, instead giving him the teasing look she was always showing off for him. “You’re only saying that because you lost,” she said.

He stepped closer to her, green eyes flashing. “No, I’m not.”

Buffy stepped ever-the-inch closer, too, eyes narrowing, ready for a fight. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” It was rare for them to be so in each other’s space, but in that moment, she could feel the heat radiating from his body, could feel the inhale and exhale of his breath on her face.

“Yes, you—”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before Jonah was closing the gap between them and kissing her, and for once in her life, Buffy forgot how to argue.

Jonah was pulling away from her before Buffy could even figure out if she wanted him to or not, both of them gaping at each other in shock at what had just happened. Finally, she said, “I’ve got to go,” not even sticking around long enough to hear his response before she ran away, consequently leaving her mind and her heart behind with one Jonah Beck.

* * *

Buffy had never ended up collecting on that grape popsicle. At lunch the next day, she’d barely been able to face Jonah, so she’d settled for splitting it in half like usual, otherwise it would’ve raised questions, and Buffy had known better than to acknowledge what had happened between them. If she had, it would’ve been accepting that Jonah Beck had kissed her, and that would’ve meant having to deal with it.

Suddenly, Jonah continued what he’d been saying, and Buffy was jolted back to reality. “But you pretended that it never happened, so I thought I was wrong. And I got over it,” he said. A part of Buffy couldn’t help but smile at the words, the small percentage of her that wasn’t freaking out over the confession reveling in every second of it. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. It was a stupid middle school crush. It barely even counts.”

The words stung, even though she knew they shouldn’t have. Because even though she liked Jonah (a lot more than she’d care to, in all honesty), it was better if he didn’t like her back. If he did, that meant _this_ —the underlying third thing between them that radiated electricity—was real and not just in her head, and dealing with that was more than Buffy was sure she’d be able to handle. “Whatever. _I’m_ still counting it,” she said, partially to annoy him and partially because it was true.

“Whatever,” Jonah repeated, but there was no meanness to his voice, only his regularly scheduled dose of amusement as he fell back into her lap. “I don’t regret it, you know,” he said. His eyes flitted back up to hers in that soft way from before, and Buffy was tempted to gaze into them for eternity. “I’m glad you were the first person I ever kissed.”

Buffy grabbed her book from where they’d abandoned it and glanced away from him, because otherwise, he’d see the blush on her face, and she couldn’t have him knowing _that_ piece of information. “Me too,” she said, voice strangled, and if Jonah noticed, he didn’t seem to let on.

* * *

It was well into the afternoon that Buffy finished reading, and as she set her book down, she could see Jonah stifling a yawn. “You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just...tired.” He closed his eyes from his place in her lap, practically making a pillow out of it.

“Jonah…,” she said, but she didn’t have it in her to protest, no matter how cramped her legs were from staying in the same position for so long.

“Just five more minutes,” he mumbled, and immediately, Buffy knew it’d be much longer than that, give or take a few hours.

But at this point, she couldn’t really bring herself to mind all that much. Because this was probably one of the last times she’d see Jonah like this, so carefree and open and unfiltered right there in her lap, like he trusted her with the world.

She decided to savor it as long as she could, because for all she knew, she wouldn’t have many more opportunities. Besides, it wasn’t like what Jonah didn’t know would hurt him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So sorry that this chapter took such a long time to upload. Life has been pretty hectic with graduation and moving, but the next couple chapters should be uploaded weekly! Thanks for the understanding. -Bee

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, no one wanted to do any work. This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary—the students of Grant High School rarely felt like working with a break so close around the corner, and the teachers could hardly blame them. Classes were filled with movies put on to keep kids distracted, and the ones that weren’t were filled with busy work to get everyone through to the end of the day. Buffy was bored out of her mind waiting for lunch, and Jonah had gotten his phone taken away during second period by an ornery substitute, so she couldn’t even text him if she wanted to.  By the time the lunch bell rang, Buffy could hardly contain herself from jumping up from her seat. Jonah picked her up outside of class, momentarily surprised when she grabbed hold of his hand and set off at a trotting pace down the hall. 

 

“I  _ seriously _ can’t wait for break,” Buffy said.

 

Jonah laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s you and just about everyone else in this place.” He tried to ignore the way his stomach still fluttered anxiously when Buffy didn’t let go of his hand, tried to remind himself that this was a normal thing couples did. Even if they weren’t…not the point. He tightened his grip around Buffy’s hand, thankful that she cast the softest glance back at him while they stood in line for lunch. It moved slower than normal, and Buffy had to keep talking in order to distract him from all of the people cutting in front of them the closer they get to the register. 

 

“It’s not fair,” he grumbled, dropping Buffy’s hand only when he absolutely needed to—which was to say when one of the cafeteria aides barked at him to grab a fruit or vegetable from the produce bins. “They shouldn’t be able to get lunch before everyone else. Why can’t they just be sent to the back of the line?” 

 

“Jonah, we talk about this literally every day. All is fair in lunch and war.” Buffy rolled her eyes, setting down her tray at the empty lunch table. Andi and Walker were running late, having been stuck in Walker’s art class talking to the teacher, and Cyrus and TJ were still in line, undoubtedly complaining about the exact same thing as Jonah. “Stop pouting.”

 

“I wasn’t,” Jonah scowled.

 

“Sure you weren’t.” 

 

“I  _ wasn’t _ .”

 

Buffy hummed, less of a lament and more of a,  _ Yeah, okay, whatever, Beck. _

 

A few minutes later, the table was swarmed with people. The rest of their group sat down around them all at once, talking over each other. Buffy was used to having to keep up with a fast paced conversation, but having missed the beginning, she was more than a little lost. 

 

“Okay, so, guys,” Andi shushed the boys, who were busy complaining about all their homework for the night. “We’re still on for Friendsgiving this Wednesday, right?” 

 

Buffy pulled the crust off her pizza, tearing off pieces that she could easily munch on. Jonah usually made a comment about how weird she was for eating the crust first, but this time he stayed silent. “Did we even decide where we’re having it?” 

 

“Cece said it was okay if we had it at the house,” Andi answered. “She’s been decorating like  _ crazy _ the past couple of days.” 

 

Jonah asked what time they were meeting, partially because he couldn’t actually remember the time they’d settled on (if they’d even  _ settled _ on one), and partially because he’d kind of been hoping to spend time with Buffy on his own, without the rest of their friends or family crowding around them. Not that he didn’t love spending time with their group as a whole, but with only a few days off for break, he’d be getting more than his fair share of other people, and any time he could scavenge to spend with his fake-but-he-wished-she-wasn’t girlfriend was time he would steal. 

 

“We agreed on five,” Andi said. “I know we’ll all need time to make the dishes and everything.” 

 

“Five sounds great,” Cyrus said, stopping the impending argument in its tracks. Buffy shot him a thankful glance, and he nodded just the smallest bit to acknowledge her. 

 

Walker asked, “Does anyone have the list of what we all agreed to bring in? I think it’d be a good idea to send it in the group chat again, just to make sure that no one accidentally brings the same thing twice.” That had happened once, a few years back. It was only the second Friendsgiving that the kids had participated in, held in Andi and Bex’s one-bedroom apartment on the floor of the living room. Both Andi and Cyrus had made stuffing, with only the slightest variations, and the meltdown Andi had had over it was nearly astronomical. In her defense, though, it had been an awfully long day, and she’d completely spaced on the fact that Cyrus had called dibs on the stuffing. They still teased her about it sometimes, when they knew she wouldn’t snap at them. Now, though, was not one of those times. 

 

“I have the list saved,” Buffy chimed in. “I can send it after school.” 

 

“Thanks,” he said, smiling at her with a tilt of his mouth that used to make her heart ache. She found it strange that it didn’t anymore.

 

“No problem.” 

 

The bell crackled over the old overhead system, signalling the end of the lunch period. The group haphazardly gathered up their belongings, handing over their empty lunch trays to TJ for him to drop off like he did every day. Buffy and Jonah fell into step with each other, a familiar rhythm neither of them seemed to notice. Since Buffy had homeroom for fifth period, she was able to walk with Jonah to his digital design class. The teacher, Mr. Osbin, was one of the most laid back teachers at Grant, and as long as you weren’t disrespectful, he would let you hang out in his classroom during your free periods if you wanted. Which was to say, Buffy had been spending more of her own free time with Jonah whenever she was all caught up on homework. Now was one of those times, and even though Jonah tried his best to remain focused on the task at hand—designing a set of stickers he was meant to be printing off —it was difficult for him to pay attention to anything beyond the fact that Buffy was  _ right there _ , absentmindedly rubbing her thumb against her bottom lip while she read through whatever tacky romance novel she’d picked up at Goodwill the other day. 

 

It had been like this a lot lately, with Buffy just  _ existing  _ in the same space and Jonah’s head spinning. She would smile at him, and his heart would ache. She would frown at her book, and he’d have to remind himself that he was not allowed to reach over and smooth it away. It was like she was some cosmic body, and he was being pulled heart-first into her orbit. Maybe, actually, it had always been that way. 

 

Watching her as she flipped the yellowed pages of her book, Jonah sighed. How was he ever going to deal with letting this all go? How was he ever going to be okay again? He didn’t think he would be. Not completely, anyway. Buffy had quite literally come crashing back into his life, and now that she was there, he couldn’t imagine her ever leaving. But it was bound to happen. He knew that. Buffy was destined for so much more than Shadyside. Jonah wished he could give her the world, and he wished she would let him. 

 

“Jonah?” Buffy looked up from her book, the corners of her mouth curved just the slightest bit down. 

 

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” For what, he didn’t know. Being caught, maybe? Or maybe he was sorry he’d agreed to this at all, because God, if he wasn’t already so far  _ gone— _

 

“I asked if you were okay,” she snorted.

 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Fine. Why?” 

 

“Really?” Buffy scrunched up her nose, all too aware of the fact that he wasn’t telling the truth. “You’ve been zoned out for almost ten minutes now.” 

 

_ Had _ he? He hadn’t thought that much time had passed, but it  _ was _ ridiculously easy for him to get lost when it came to Buffy. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah no, I’m fine. Just… thinking.”    
  
“About what?” She folded the corner of her page down, closing the book in her lap. 

 

“Stuff. Things.” 

 

She rolled her eyes. “Wow, thanks for the explanation.”

 

Jonah sighed. “It’s nothing, really.” 

 

The look Buffy gave him clearly said,  _ I do not believe you _ , but she opened up her book again and turned her attention back to reading. 

 

“Buffy?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the desk.

 

Her eyes flitted upwards from her book again, meeting his own. “Jonah?” she asked, a hint of amusement plain in her voice.

 

“Should I pick you up at three or four tomorrow?” 

 

Buffy’s eyebrows pulled together. “Pick me up for what?” 

 

“Friendsgiving! You know, the one we were just talking about at lunch?” He was joking, mostly, and the bright smile on his face was a complete one-eighty from the gloom of the mere seconds before. 

 

“Friendsgiving isn’t until five,” she pointed out in her oh-so-righteous manner. Jonah was used to it, though, even found it endearing at this point in their relationship, or maybe he always had.

 

“I know,” he said. “I just wanted to hang out with you for a little bit. You know, if that’s okay.”

 

He pretended not to notice the smile that slowly spread across her face, mostly for his own sake. “So, three, then?” he asked when she didn’t say anything. 

 

“If you want to,” she said, turning the page on her book. How she managed to hold a conversation while continuing to read was something Jonah would  _ never _ understand. Half the time, he couldn’t even do one of those things right, and Buffy managed to do them both perfectly. Figures. “I might need some more time to bake the mac and cheese, but you’re more than welcome to come over.” 

 

“Okay.” Jonah smiled again, turning back to his assignment. The computer had fallen asleep, so he swiped the mouse to wake it back up. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Jonah trying to figure out the easiest way to fit the words ‘docious magocious’ on his sticker, Buffy reading through her novel. Jonah kept tapping his foot on the ground between them, knocking his knee against hers unknowingly. 

 

“Jonah?” 

 

“Hm?” Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he did not turn to face her.  _ I just need to make this a  _ little  _ smaller and it’ll be perfect,  _ he thought.

 

“What are we doing about Thursday?” 

 

“Got it,” he said to himself, more of a victory than anything. Figuring that he’d made enough progress for the day, Jonah closed out of the web browser, turning in his seat to look at Buffy. “What do you mean?” 

 

“I mean, we haven’t really talked about what we’re doing for Thanksgiving,” Buffy said. “Don’t real couples go to each other’s houses for the holidays and stuff?”

 

Jonah ignored the way his heart twisted at  _ real couples _ . “I mean, yeah. I kind of figured we’d both spend time at each other’s houses for Thanksgiving,” he said. At least, he’d been  _ hoping _ . “It  _ would _ look pretty weird if we didn’t show up together, don’t you think?”

 

Buffy sighed, nodded in agreement. “I  _ guess _ you’re right. We have to keep up appearances anyway, right?”

 

Even though he’d said the exact same thing, it still sent a chill to his heart. “Yeah. So, do you want to come to my house for Thanksgiving and then we can go to yours? My family has it kind of early since they’re coming in from out-of-town,” he explained.

 

The thing was, Buffy  _ was _ going to be busy with her own Thanksgiving. Her dad always needed her help with making the side dishes, because he was not only preoccupied with frying the turkey, he also had an annual competition with Walker’s father, Mr. Brodsky, over who could make the best pumpkin pie. They never used the same recipe twice, and it’s pretty entertaining to see what both men come up with for the year. But there’s something in the way that Jonah looks at the ground while he rambles about his mom wanting her to come over that makes Buffy’s heart ache a little bit. So maybe it’s a thin line that she’s walking on right now, between playing the perfect girlfriend and giving too much of her heart away, but she couldn’t say no to him. Not now. 

 

“Yeah, I’ll go,” she said, resting her hand over his on the table. He looked up at her, startled just the slightest bit. But then he smiled, brilliant and warm, his dimples showing. Every time he smiled at her, it was like he was giving her this gift—this hidden piece of him that no one else got to see. Maybe it was all in her head, but it felt like he saved that smile for her, the way Walker did for Andi.

 

_ It’s  _ definitely  _ just all in my head _ , Buffy thought to herself, shaking her head. 

 

She felt Jonah rub her thumb with his, snapping her back into reality. “Really?” he asked, a surprised smile on his face. 

 

She shifted her eyes towards the table more for her own sake than for his. “I want to. I mean, if you want me there, I’ll go.” 

 

He smiled again, and Buffy felt like she could drown in it. “Sweet. Dinner is usually at two-thirty, so I’ll pick you up at two.” 

 

She smiled back, picking up her book again. “Okay.”

* * *

 

Buffy didn’t know when Jonah had stopped ringing the doorbell and started just walking into her house like he had always belonged there, but when he showed up in her kitchen on Wednesday while she was busy making the mac and cheese she made every year from scratch, she didn’t think too much of it. 

 

“Hey,” she said, glancing up at the clock on the stove. The green numbers blinked 2:45. “You’re early.” Buffy found it annoying and oddly endearing that whenever it was on his terms, he was early, but when it came to picking him up for school, he was  _ not _ . She took the pot off the burner, glancing at Jonah to find that he was sitting on the counter opposite of her, looking for all intents and purposes like he’d fallen out of a Dior cologne commercial. 

 

Buffy had always known that Jonah cleaned up well; he used to dress up all the time when it came to impressing Andi’s family back in middle school. But  _ this _ was a far cry from  _ that _ . Now, his hair was slicked back like it had been Halloween night, a single ringlet falling against his forehead, most likely because his hair was starting to get too long for the gel to hold it down and really, Jonah’s hair had a mind of its own, anyway. The deep blue button-down he wore was cuffed halfway up his arms, hanging untucked from a pair of dark-washed jeans. The only thing about his outfit that didn’t make Buffy’s heart stutter was the fact that she could see the pair of pizza-patterned socks peeking out from the inch of space between the cuff of his pants and the start of his shoes, and even  _ that _ she found endearing. She coughed, turning back to the stove, heart aching in her chest though she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she said, “You look nice,” somehow managing to keep her voice steady.

 

“Thanks!” Jonah beamed, actually  _ beamed _ at her. “So do you.” Buffy had half a mind to tell him to stop lying, because her hair was thrown up in a haphazard bun and she was still wearing her sweats from when she woke up that morning, but she decided to not say anything for once and just accept the lie for the compliment it was. 

 

“Come to bother me already?” she asked. She was currently scrubbing the stovetop from the mess she’d made, failing more than not to keep her eyes off Jonah.

 

He hopped of the counter, moving across the room to stand beside her at the stove. He leaned an elbow against the countertop, tilting his head the slightest bit when he looked at her. “What else would I do?” 

 

She didn’t say anything to that, instead nudging him aside and assembling the mac and cheese casserole she had been prepping. When that was done and set to baking in the oven, she turned back towards him. “Are you okay on your own for a few minutes? I need to start getting dressed for the party.” 

 

Jonah nodded. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been left to his own devices before. He practically spent half of their relationship waiting around for Buffy. “Yeah, go ahead. I’ll be fine.” 

 

Buffy smiled, a quick quirk of her lips, and then she was out of the kitchen and walking into her room without a second glance back towards him.

* * *

 

Besides Andi, Jonah and Buffy were the first to arrive at Cece & Pop’s house at a quarter to five. While they stood at the door, waiting for someone to let them inside,  Jonah kept running the hand that wasn’t carrying a bag of soda bottles against his jeans. After what felt like the millionth time, Buffy shifted the casserole dish she was holding onto her hip and took a hold of Jonah’s free hand. 

 

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” she said, heart fluttering at the way he stepped closer to her on the front stoop. “It’s just our friends. You’ll be fine.” 

 

“I—” He began, then frowned. A crease formed between his eyebrows in a way that only happens when he’s anxious, or thinking too hard. Now seemed like a combination of the two. “I haven’t been back here since freshman year. What if Cece only remembers me spilling wax all over the walls?” 

 

Despite herself, Buffy laughed. “What? Jonah, come on, that was years ago. I bet they don’t even remember.” 

 

“But what if they do?” 

 

“Well, in that case, you’re in luck. Both Cece and Pops aren’t going to be home. Like I said, it’s just us, okay?” She gave his hand another squeeze before dropping it to knock on the door again. 

 

With a sigh, Jonah shifted the bag of drinks to his other hand. There was no going back now.

* * *

 

For the most part, the party went off without a hitch. The rest of their group slowly trickled in as it approached five o’clock, Buffy and Cyrus helping Andi set out the food on the table. Once everything was set, Cyrus went to collect the rest of their group for dinner. They more or less sat around in the same seats that they occupied at lunch—Cyrus and TJ sat next to each other with Andi at the head of the table, Walker on her right. Jonah sat between TJ and Buffy at the other end of the table, more than a little aware of Walker on her other side. Usually, that information wouldn’t bother him, because that was just how they had been sitting for years, but there was something different about tonight. Or maybe there was just something different about Jonah himself. Either way, he made a point to reach over and hold onto Buffy’s hand the whole time. 

 

Once everyone was seated and the food had been dispersed, Andi pushed her chair back to stand. “As  _ most _ of you know,” she said, and Jonah tried his best not to feel left out, “it’s kind of our tradition to go around and say what we’re thankful for this year. I know it’s kind of cheesy, but I think it’s not only important to hold onto traditions, but it’s also nice to acknowledge the good things in our lives. I’ll go first, if that’s okay?” When no one objected, she continued. “I’m thankful for my family, and all of my friends—old and new.” She made a point to smile at Jonah briefly, and even though Buffy knew there was still so much work to be done, it felt like the ice between them was finally beginning to thaw. 

 

After Andi shared and sat back down, they popcorned around the table. Not one for public displays of deep emotion, TJ said that he was thankful he wasn’t failing any of his classes. This in itself may have seemed insignificant, but anyone who had been around TJ for a while knew that school wasn’t really his thing, and any academic progress was a means for celebration. Walker went next, saying how thankful he was that his sister was home safe from her first deployment in Greece.  Buffy herself said the same thing every year—she was thankful that she had remained such good friends with their group over the years, because they really had been her biggest support system for the longest time. The latter portion of her comment was one she only made in her mind, because that was private information, but she thought it nonetheless. Cyrus claimed to be thankful that his family was healthy. Earlier in the year his stepmom, who had been six months pregnant at the time, was rushed to the hospital after a scare.  _ Everyone _ was thankful that both his stepmom and the baby were doing just fine, even more so now that his little sister was officially here.

 

When it came to Jonah, he was silent for a moment. His breathing hitched in an almost imperceptible way, though Buffy caught it. “I’m thankful,” he said, making eye contact with the girl beside him, “for Buffy. I’m thankful that she puts up with my antics, and that she’s given me a second chance, after all these years. I couldn’t ask for anyone better, because I don’t think there is.” 

 

Buffy felt like all the air had been vacuumed right out of the room, or out of her lungs, at the very least. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to make her feel the way she did? Buffy was vaguely away of Andi practically melting over how  _ cute  _ and  _ sweet _ that was. She was vaguely aware of TJ fake-gagging into his napkin, and Cyrus nudging him. She was vaguely aware of the cloud that seemed to pass over Walker’s face, but even that she wasn’t too sure of because it was there and gone in the blink of an eye. Mostly, almost entirely, Buffy was aware of Jonah, and the fact that he was still looking at her like she was capable of stealing the moon right out of the sky. Mostly, Buffy was aware of Jonah and how warm his palm was against hers. Mostly, Buffy was aware of Jonah and the fact that he totally just lied to all of their friends, because there wasn’t really any way he actually felt like that, was there? Swallowing thickly, she jerked her gaze away from Jonah’s, carefully retracting her hand from his, and reached for her glass of sparkling cider, downing it entirely. Then, she cleared her throat, pushed her chair away from the table, and quietly excused herself to step outside.

* * *

 

Having left the room, Buffy missed the way Jonah’s face practically crumbled. He moved to follow after her, but stilled when Andi shook her head. 

 

“Just give her a minute,” she said, more gentle than Jonah could recall her ever being to him in the past few months. “Let her process.” 

 

“I didn’t mean to screw things  up,” Jonah sighed, eyes falling to his plate. He didn’t have much of an appetite now, not when Buffy had run off like that after he’d all but admitting his real feelings for her.

 

“You didn’t.” It was Cyrus who reassured him, a constant mediator in their group. “Buffy’s not exactly the  _ best _ when it comes to emotions.”

 

TJ snickered at that, earning a smack on the arm from Cyrus. Normally, Jonah would have cast a glance at Buffy across the room, giving her a look that said,  _ They’re totally getting together soon _ , but she wasn’t there to receive the message, a fact that only managed to further dim Jonah’s mood.

 

After a couple minutes passed, Buffy let herself back into the dining room. She didn’t look any different than when they’d arrived nearly an hour and a half ago—her hair was still pinned in a bun at the top of her head, the baby blue dress she wore was still crease-free, her expression still open and friendly, but things felt different. When she sat down, it was like a wall had gone up between her and Jonah, and he couldn’t bring himself to cross it. Instead, he kept his attention away from her, focused too intensely on cutting his chunks of turkey into bite-sized pieces. He missed the way that Buffy kept glancing at him like looking away hurt, but maybe that was for the best. 

* * *

After dinner, all the boys went into the living room to watch the football game (well, except Cyrus; he  _ hated _ sports, and football was no exception ). Jonah would have rather stayed back to help Andi, Buffy, and Cyrus clean up the table, but things had been so weird since the start of dinner that he couldn’t bear to put himself through it. On her end, Buffy pretended like she still wasn’t fixated on what Jonah had said at dinner. 

 

Handing Buffy the empty casserole dish, Andi says “You know, I’m actually glad you’re dating Jonah.” The words made Buffy raise her eyebrows in surprise, heart lurching in a way that only Jonah Beck seemed to cause. 

 

“Really?” she asked, voice brimming with the disbelief she felt at the whole situation.

 

“Yeah. I mean, I’ll admit I was a little bit hurt when I first found out, but thinking about it now, it was a stupid thing to be upset about. I mean, Jonah and I—we didn’t even really date. We just chased each other around for most of middle school, always hurting each other when we didn’t mean to. But you guys—you’re so good together, Buff. He’s so different around you.” 

 

“Different?” Buffy felt like a parrot, echoing back the words Andi had just said. “What do you mean he’s different?” 

 

“I don’t know,” Andi replied, setting the turkey plate in the sink and scrubbing it down. “He’s just different. Happier, I guess. More open. He was never like that with Amber, remember? When they had that on-again, off-again thing, he would walk around school looking like he was being held prisoner or something.” 

 

She did remember that, actually. And even if she hadn’t, it was something she and Jonah had talked about before. On one of their many late night phone calls, Jonah had brought up the fact that, with Buffy, he didn’t feel like he was always falling short. With Amber, he’d spent most of his time feeling like he wasn’t doing anything right, because she always had something to complain about. Now he knew that that was just how Amber was. She never did have anything nice to say. 

 

“Right. Well, I mean, he deserves to be happy, you know?” 

 

“So do you, Buffy.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

“And are you?” 

 

“Am I happy?”  Buffy turned to face her friend, mouth turned down in a small frown.

 

“Yeah.” 

 

Buffy stopped to think about it.  _ Yes _ , she thought. She was happy. Jonah made her happy. At least, he did when he wasn’t saying things that made her feel like she was being turned inside out. “I am.” 

 

“That’s good.” 

 

“What’s good?” Cyrus asked, walking into the kitchen. He’d been in the dining room, collecting empty plates and cups to dispose of while the girls had been washing dishes.

 

“That Buffy is happy with Jonah.” Andi supplied, saying it like it wasn’t a world-changing statement. She continued cleaning off the platter in the sink like it didn’t even matter.    
  


“Oh,” Cyrus said. “Yeah, that  _ is _ good.” 

 

Buffy nodded, swallowing around the lump that had started forming in her throat. 

 

“Can I just say, though, that I never thought you and Jonah would get together.” Cyrus sets a handful of dirty silverware in the sink, dancing away from Andi when she moved to swat at him with a sud-covered hand. “What do you see in him, anyway?” 

 

Buffy knew that he didn’t mean it so much in a rude way as opposed to idle curiosity, but she couldn’t help but bristle at the statement, anyway. “I see someone who’s had to deal with a lot of awful things early on, but who’s come out better for it. He’s so smart, too. I know that sometimes it may seem like his head is filled with air, but he actually knows a lot.” 

 

She continued, “I like that his favorite subject is history, even though just by looking at him, you’d think it would be lunch, or PE, or something equally less academic. I like that he laughs at the things I say, even if it’s at his own expense. I like the way he sings, and how he hasn’t given up playing the guitar even though a lot of other people would because it’s difficult to learn and to keep up with. 

 

“I like the way that he treats his mom like she’s royalty, and I like the way his eyes shine when he’s happy, and I like the way the dimples in his cheeks appear when he smiles really big. I like that he gets along with my dad. I just—he’s so good. I...I got really lucky with him.” And it was true. She did feel really lucky to be with someone as genuine and caring as Jonah Beck, even if it was all a facade. The looks Andi and Cyrus gave her made her stomach twist, but she pretended to not feel it. After all, she’d given enough of her heart away as it was.

* * *

 

After the kitchen and dining room were all cleaned up, Andi, Buffy, and Cyrus joined the rest of their friends in the living room. Jonah was sitting on the couch, tucked into a corner with his feet propped up on the ottoman in front of him. Steeling herself, Buffy crossed the room and sat down beside him, a mere inch of space between them. When he glanced up at her and away from the TV, Buffy sighed and leaned into his side. With that simple action, it was like whatever awkwardness between them dissolved. Jonah put his arm around her shoulder, keeping her close. Paying more attention to the TV than to the rest of their friends, they missed the knowing look that Andi and Cyrus shared between them.

 

When a moment had passed, Buffy looked up at Jonah from where her head was rested against his shoulder. In a hushed voice, she said, “Jonah?” 

 

“Yeah?” He turned his head the slightest bit, enough to glance at her. 

 

“Thank you.”

 

“For what??” 

 

“For what you said earlier.” Her stomach was turning again at how true the words were, but she powered through it. “It really meant a lot.” 

 

“Well, it’s true, Buffy. All of it. I’m so thankful for you.” 

 

She swallowed around the ever-present lump in her throat. “I—Jonah, I’m thankful for you too.” Once the words were out in the open, they did not seem as intimidating as they had when she’d merely been thinking them. The smile that broke over Jonah’s face was more than worth it, though.

* * *

 

Hours after dinner had finished, TJ and Cyrus were the first to leave. They had driven together, and even though Cyrus didn’t want to leave just yet, his stepmom had called asking for help with his sister, and he wasn’t one to say no when it came to the baby. Walker left soon after them, pressing a kiss to Andi’s cheek in lieu of a goodbye. Before he closed the door behind him, he said, “See you tomorrow, Buffy!” And then he was gone. 

 

If Jonah’s arm tightened around Buffy even the smallest bit, she didn’t notice. Instead, she nodded a goodbye before leaning her head back against Jonah’s shoulder again. “We should probably get going,” she said, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was only a little past nine, but Andi was yawning wide, and Buffy had to admit even she was beginning to feel sleepy. Jonah nodded, untangling himself from her as much as he didn’t want to. While he gathered up their things, Buffy stood and hugged Andi goodbye. 

 

The last thing Andi said to her before they break apart was, “He’s good for you, Buff.” And Buffy didn’t even have it within her to deny it.

* * *

 

Jonah actually did ring the bell the next day, rather than just barging in like he usually did. Her father was the one to answer the door, due to the fact that Buffy was in her room, getting ready to meet Jonah’s family. She could vaguely hear her father and Jonah talking in the doorway, but she couldn’t make out what they were talking about exactly. This didn’t bother her, though. She was glad Jonah got along so well with her dad. She thought that just maybe, her father liked talking to him more than he did Walker, but that was purely on the basis of Jonah being around the house more.

 

Smoothing her hair down one more time, Buffy glanced over her appearance in the mirror. She and Jonah had agreed to color-coordinate for his family’s Thanksgiving, so as long as he remembered what they talked about, the shirt he had on right now would match the burnt orange of Buffy’s dress. Despite herself, she hoped that his family liked her. If they were as sweet as Jonah and his mom, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. 

 

She walked to the kitchen slowly to give herself more time before she had to leave. She told herself that she wasn’t nervous about the dinner, nor did she believe she was all that nervous about seeing Jonah again after what had happened the previous night. But there was this feeling sitting in her stomach that made her run her hands over the fabric of her dress, flattening out nonexistent wrinkles. 

 

At the edge of the hallway, she stopped, closed her eyes, and reminded herself that this was all just an act anyway. It didn’t matter how the night went, because this was going to be the one and only Thanksgiving they spent together. Or maybe that just made it matter more. To Buffy alone, at the very least. Heaving a sigh, she walked into the kitchen, where she could hear Jonah and her father laughing at a story her dad had just finished telling.

 

If she thought Jonah had looked nice yesterday, he looked a million times nicer today. But that could’ve just been her biased thinking. Jonah sat across the island from her dad, sleeves rolled up as he helped press crushed graham cracker crumbs into the bottom of a pie tin while Mr. Driscoll creamed together melted butter and three separate kinds of sugar for the pie filling. He hadn’t told Buffy what kind of pumpkin pie he was making this year, just that it was sure to beat Mr. Brodsky’s. But the pie filling wasn’t what Buffy had focused in on. Rather, she was busy noting the fact that Jonah had left his hair as it naturally dried, the soft waves that had taken over his hair as he grew older were quite possibly Buffy’s favorite thing. (Not that she would admit that to him, of course.) He had remembered to wear the shirt Buffy helped him pick out, and it was tucked into a pair of black slacks Buffy hadn’t even known he owned. In short, he looked much better than Buffy had been expecting, and her heart squeezed painfully. 

 

Mr. Driscoll cleared his throat, effectively alerting Jonah of Buffy’s otherwise quiet presence in the room. Jonah glanced over, and as soon as his gaze fell over Buffy, he stilled. Her father cleared his throat again, breaking whatever spell Jonah had been under. 

 

“Wow, Buffy, you look—you look  _ really _ nice.” He was looking at her like she was the entire night sky rolled into a person, and her petulant heart was threatening to beat right out of her ribcage.

 

“Oh, so I don’t look nice everyday?” She said, sarcastic in a way that only happened when she was nervous. Why was she suddenly so  _ nervous _ ? 

 

“No, I—that’s not what I meant. You always look beautiful.” The crimson flush that spread from below his shirt collar and reached the tips of his ears had Buffy feeling rather validated. Though she wasn’t going to ever admit it, it felt nice to have someone think so highly of you. Even if that someone was Jonah Beck. Maybe it was better because of that. 

 

“You do look nice, Buff,” her father added, taking the pie tin from Jonah so he could wash off his hands. “Don’t go breaking too many hearts now.” He pushed a pie covered in tin foil towards her on the counter. A bribe, basically, for Jonah’s family. It was still hot when she picked it up, warming her in a way she hadn’t been expecting.

 

Buffy laughed, reaching for Jonah when he finished washing off his hands. “No promises.” 

 

_ No kidding _ , Jonah mused, but instead of voicing this aloud, he kept the thought to himself and focused on the warmth in her fingertips.

 

They were already halfway down the hallway when Mr. Driscoll called after them, “Don’t forget, Buff—”

 

“Be back before dessert!” Buffy and Jonah called back in unison. They could hear her father laughing in the kitchen before Buffy shut the door.

* * *

 

When they pulled up to Jonah’s house, he parallel parked the car at the curb. His mom had instructed him to leave it there, since their guests would be parking in the driveway. Why, Jonah didn’t know, but he knew enough to not question his mother when she was already stressed out enough. He climbed out of the car, rounding the front to open up Buffy’s door for her. She smiled at him briefly as he reached for her hand again, falling into step alongside her on their way up to the front door. 

 

While Jonah fumbled around with his keys, Buffy shifted from one foot to the other. Now that she was at his house, now that there was no turning back, she was starting to admit that she really was nervous about the whole situation. What if his family didn’t like her? There was no way Buffy could handle  _ that _ kind of rejection (not that Buffy could handle  _ any _ kind of rejection, but still, her point was made.)

 

Voice small in a way that it never was, Buffy asked, “Do you think your family will like me?” 

 

Jonah looked over at her, noticing the way she was shifting around and keeping her eyes locked away from his. He reached over, running his hand from her elbow to her palm, locking their hands together. “They’re gonna love you, Buff.” 

 

“But what if they don’t?” 

 

“They will.” 

 

“But—”

 

“Buffy, don’t even stress about it. I know my family will like you. And even if they don’t, who cares what they think? All that’s important is that I like you.” He didn’t really mean it like  _ that _ . Or at least, Buffy didn’t think he did, but that didn’t stop her stomach from doing that nervous swoop it was in the habit of doing around Jonah. She held onto his hand a little tighter. 

 

“I hope you’re right.” 

 

Jonah nodded, pushing the door open with his free hand. “I am.”

* * *

 

Jonah’s mom was in the kitchen, meticulously arranging orange slices around a large serving platter. Buffy assumed it was for the turkey that was still in the roaster, not that she’d ever actually seen someone prepare a serving plate for turkey like that. Her father wasn’t all that big on presentation, as long as the food tasted well enough.

 

Jonah announced that they were back, causing his mother to look up quickly. She smiled brightly at him, tilting her head when he moved to press a kiss to her cheek. Then, her gaze fell on Buffy, and suddenly the room felt a lot less welcoming. 

 

“Buffy!” she said. Her voice sounded sweet enough, reminiscent of Jonah’s constantly friendly tone, but it didn’t do anything to make her any less nervous. “It’s been a while since I last saw you,” she smiled, and Buffy wondered if there was supposed to be a double entendre to her words, one that implied that their relationship hadn’t been doing well.

 

“Do you need help with anything?” Jonah asked, rather oblivious to the chill in the air. His mother shook her head, telling them to run along and wait for the rest of their guests to arrive. She smiled at Buffy pointedly when she said this, causing her to frown. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

Jonah’s other relatives arrived shortly after. His aunt, a short, round woman with smile lines, was a far cry from her sister. For one, as soon as she saw Buffy, she cooed over what a “gorgeous young woman” she was, and tugged her straight into a hug. And for another,  _ her _ blonde hair seemed all natural, curling the same way Jonah’s did when it was left to grow long enough. Her husband, James, introduced himself after, shaking both Buffy’s and Jonah’s hands. 

 

“Gee, Jonah,” he’d said, smiling brightly at Buffy where she stood beside her boyfriend, “Where have you been hiding her? She’s obviously the better half.” The pink tinge that flushed out over Jonah’s face was enough to make Buffy laugh a little, a sort of reprieve that she didn’t know she had been needing. 

 

Next came three of Jonah’s cousins—Lucy, who was fifteen, Charlotte, who was nine, and Bailey, who was six. They all looked like carbon copies of their mom, except for the fact that they’d appeared to receive their father’s height. Bailey seemed immediately taken with Buffy, rambling on and on about how she looked like the pumpkin princess from a book she had been reading with her mom. Buffy smiled, thanking her, before the kids were shepherded off to the kitchen to say hello to their aunt. 

 

“How many people are coming over?” Buffy asked as soon as they had been left alone in the living room.

 

“As far as I know, we’re just waiting on Uncle Johnny and his family. They aren’t the best at time management, so they might be a while,” Jonah answered.

 

“Oh, are you sure you aren’t theirs?”

 

Jonah laughed, knocking his shoulder against Buffy’s. “Don’t be mean.” 

 

Buffy smiled, acutely aware of where Jonah’s body was still pressed close to hers. “Do they have a big family?” 

 

“Not really. Uncle Johnny and his wife, Cindy, have two girls. One just turned three, and the other was born a few months ago. ” 

 

Buffy wasn’t sure how she felt about being surrounded almost solely by small children for the night, but she was not going to say that out loud. Instead, she asked, “Are you the only boy?” 

 

“On my mom’s side, yeah,” Jonah shrugged. “I’m the oldest, too. But it’s not as fun as you’d think it would be. Plus, I still have to sit at the kids’ table.” 

 

At that, Buffy laughed, a full-stomach laugh that had her wrinkling her nose. For some reason, the image of Jonah sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest at a small plastic table meant for a five-year-old was hilarious to her. She felt much less anxious now, that was for sure. 

 

Uncle Johnny and his family showed up ten minutes before dinner was scheduled to start, which had Jonah’s mother nearly pulling at her hair. From her few visits to Jonah’s house, including the first dinner she’d had here, Buffy could tell she liked having things planned out to a T, and did not like any form of deviation. Buffy couldn’t remember her being so strict back in middle school, or even at the beginning of high school. But maybe that was all before the divorce. Maybe that kind of thing really changed someone completely. Buffy didn’t know. 

 

“Uncle Johnny, Aunt Cindy, this is my girlfriend, Buffy.” Jonah was smiling, brilliant and blindingly white when he introduced Buffy to his other relatives, like she was something to be proud of. She tried her best to play the proper girlfriend role, smiling politely. His youngest cousin was fast asleep and tucked in a sling against Aunt Cindy’s chest, so when Aunt Cindy tugged Buffy into a hug at her side, Buffy felt like she had to hold her breath to keep from waking the baby. A toddler clung to Uncle Johnny’s dress pants, hiding her chubby-cheeked face behind his leg when he tried to get her to say hello to Buffy. 

 

Crouching down, Buffy smiled at the toddler. “It’s nice to meet you.” she said, taking care to appear as non-threatening as possible. “Your dress is very pretty.” 

 

The little girl peeked out from behind her father, her tiny hand still gripping his pants tightly. In her own tiny voice, she replied, “Thank you.” It felt like progress. 

 

When Jonah’s mother called for everyone to gather in the dining room, Buffy straightened back up and took hold of Jonah’s hand. They walked through the entryway, and the formal set up of the dining room nearly took Buffy’s breath away. It had escaped her memory that Jonah’s mom was an interior designer, but looking around her now, there was no possible way she could be anything else. The table was covered with a thick tawny colored cloth, fine china dishware placed at each setting. The sets of silverware that were tucked into folded cloth napkins shimmered in the dim light from the overhead chandelier. Two large candelabras were placed towards each end of the table,  fire flickering atop each candle. 

 

Buffy skimmed over the place settings, noting how there were only six chairs at the oak dining table. Eyebrows furrowed, she turned to Jonah. “There isn’t a chair for me,” she said, voice low so only he could hear. 

 

Jonah frowned. “We’re probably gonna have to sit at the kids’ table. I usually have to, remember?” 

 

“Well, yeah, but shouldn’t we be with the adults this year?” 

 

“Buffy, it’s fine.” 

 

She sighed. “Then what’s with the extra chair? If all the kids have to sit at the children’s table, who’s the extra seat for?” 

 

Jonah shrugged, seemingly unbothered. “Don’t worry about it, Buff. It’s just a chair.

* * *

 

It was  _ not _ just a chair. 

 

As soon as everyone had taken a seat, and Ms. Beck had began her annual Thanksgiving appreciation speech, the doorbell rang. 

 

“Jonah,” his mother said, “would you be a dear and go get that?” 

 

Buffy and Jonah looked at each other, equally confused. Jonah pushed his chair away from the table, striding out of the room and towards the front door. He did not bother looking through the peephole, instead swinging the door wide open. His stomach dropped, and any pleasantry he was about to give froze on his lips. 

 

Amber, all dolled up with her hair curled and pinned away from her face, stood on the other side of the doorway. 

 

“Hi, Jonah,” she smiled, and it reminded Jonah briefly of a tiger circling its prey. “Can I come in?” 

 

“What are you doing here, Amber?” His voice was harsher than necessary, probably, but he already had  _ enough _ to worry about without adding Amber to the mix. 

 

She pouted, puffing her lower lip out in what she probably assumed was a cute gesture. “Your mom invited me, didn’t she tell you?” 

 

“What? No. Why would she do  _ that _ ?” 

 

“Well, she still must consider me family. Don’t you?” With that, Amber stepped through the doorway, breezing past Jonah and into the next room. 

 

Jonah closed the door, feeling the anxiety rising in his chest like a dangerous mantra as he did so.

* * *

 

As soon as Amber walked in, Jonah’s mom pushed herself away from the table in order to stand and pull her into a hug. Though Buffy would never say it out loud, it felt like a knife twisting in her stomach to see Jonah’s mom show his ex-girlfriend more affection than what she’d shown Buffy. Not that Buffy  _ cared _ . Except that she did. A lot, really. 

 

Jonah sat back down next to Buffy, dropping heavily down into the plastic folding chair. Buffy could tell he wasn’t okay with the turn the night had taken. It was clear in the set of his jaw and the way his brows were pinched together just the smallest bit. She reached over and wrapped his hand in hers. When he jerked his gaze away from where Amber sat beside his mother to look back at Buffy, she offered him what she hoped was a helpful smile, even though her own chest felt just as tight as his surely did. 

 

“Did you know she was going to be here?” she asked, voice low so no one else would overhear. He shook his head, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown.

 

“My mom didn’t say anything about it,” he replied, pushing the food around on his plate to, at the very least, make it look like he was eating, like he wasn’t disproportionately affected by Amber’s presence. 

 

Buffy couldn’t say she was surprised. Jonah’s mom probably still thought Amber was the best choice her son had ever made. She wondered if Jonah’s mom actually knew everything that happened between them. 

 

Over the course of the night, Buffy felt like she was vying for attention. She hated that she felt like she had to be better than Amber in order to get Jonah’s family to like her. She hated that she felt like she had to be compared to Amber at all. 

 

By the time dessert was dished out, Buffy felt like she was going to snap if she didn’t go home soon. She had already stayed much longer than she was supposed to, and she could tell that even Jonah was starting to get antsy about it. 

 

For the most part, Buffy ignored the conversations going on at the adult table. She tried her best to keep her head down and interact with Jonah’s younger cousins instead of letting herself get caught up in whatever snide remark Amber was most likely making, but when she heard Ms. Beck mention something about Jonah, she froze. Glancing at Jonah out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he’d heard it, too. 

 

“I just don’t understand why you two had to break up.,” Jonah’s mom said, wine glass swirling in her hand. “ I mean, Amber, honey, you two were so  _ good _ together.” It sounded like she’s saying Buffy  _ wasn’t _ good enough for Jonah. The thought made Buffy feel sick. 

 

“Really, Mom?” Jonah snapped, and Buffy felt like her head is spinning. This wasn’t how their night was supposed to go. “Are you serious right now?” 

 

Ms. Beck looked over at him, not startled, but definitely not used to her son speaking out of turn. “I’m sorry? I’m just having a conversation with our guest, Jonah.” 

 

“Amber shouldn’t even  _ be _ here. Everyone was supposed to be getting to know  _ Buffy _ today.” Jonah pushed back from the table, standing up. Buffy stood up beside him, heart hammering in her chest. She was sure she should say something to keep this from spiraling any more than it already was, but she couldn’t seem to force any words from her mouth. 

 

“Jonah, sit down. You’re being rude.” His mom schooled her features, and Buffy could tell that she was used to getting her way. Maybe that was why she and Amber got along so well. 

 

“No,” he answered, anger clear on his face. “You want to know  _ why _ Amber and I broke up, mom? Because she cheated on me.  _ Multiple  _ times. And I realized I deserved a million times better.  _ Buffy _ is a million times better, not that you’d know that, since you’ve spent the whole night completely ignoring her even though she’s been  _ nothing  _ but nice to you.” 

 

“But—but she  _ hurt  _ you, Jonah.” 

 

“Are you seriously talking about  _ middle school _ right now? Mom, that was  _ years  _ ago. And no, she didn’t hurt me. I hurt her, because I’m the one who cut her out of my life, not the other way around.” Jonah glanced over at Buffy, visibly trying to calm himself down.  “And not that it’s  _ any _ of your business, Mom, but the only reason I stopped hanging out with Buffy is because  _ Amber  _ made me choose. She forced me to choose between her and Buffy, the best person I’ve ever known. So I did, and  I chose  _ wrong _ . And guess what? So did you.”  

 

With a sigh, Jonah turned to the rest of his family, who had fallen into an awkward silence the longer he and his mother had argued. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got to get Buffy home.” He took hold of Buffy’s hand and held it tightly while she swallowed around the lump in her throat. He turned back to his mom, jaw set. “Don’t wait up for me.” 

 

Before she could say anything else, they were slipping out the front door. Jonah tugged open the passenger’s side door, waiting until Buffy climbed in and shut it herself before he rounded the car and sat himself down in the driver’s seat. They sat in the driveway a moment, Jonah partially waiting for his mother to come rushing out of the house to apologize, even though the more logical part of his brain knew that she was not going to. 

 

Tentatively, Buffy reached over the center console, resting her hand over Jonah’s on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?” In light of the turn their night had taken, it felt like a ridiculous question. She didn’t even know what else to say. 

 

Jonah sighed, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment to collect himself. When he opened them again, he looked over at Buffy, and she could see how guilty he felt about it all. He sank down in his seat, visibly deflating, the fight finally leaving him. He said, “You know, I’m actually okay. I’ve been meaning to tell my mom that for a while. I just…didn’t think it’d be  _ today _ , I guess.” He frowns softly, just for a second, finally turning the car on and backing out onto the street. “But…I’m glad it happened. It needed to.” 

 

Buffy relaxed into the chilled leather of the car seat. She wasn’t sure else what to say, because her emotions were going haywire and she couldn’t sift through any of them long enough to figure out how she really felt. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jonah stood up for her in front of everyone, because if there was one thing that Jonah wasn’t, it was confrontational. Buffy was usually the one doing the defending, and she couldn’t help feeling loved over the fact that she was being cared for this time. Finally, she said, “Thank you.” 

 

Jonah glanced over at her, tangling their fingers together over the gearshift. “For what?” 

  
“For being so good.” 

 

The smile Jonah gave her was enough to make her feel warm all over, regardless of the fact that the car was still cold. Trying to keep her voice light, she joked, “Well, I think it’s safe to say that your mom doesn’t like me after all.” It was meant to be joking, meant to lift some of the tension from the car, but all it did was fall flat. 

 

Jonah huffed. “That’s her loss. As much as I love my mom, Buffy, she is completely missing out on you.” They fell quiet again, Jonah absentmindedly running his thumb over the back of Buffy’s hand. For a moment, she couldn’t seem to decipher between what was real between them and what was just pretend. When they were on their own, away from everyone else, Buffy wasn’t sure anything was pretend. “Buff, I’m sorry. I  _ swear _ I didn’t know Amber was going to be there. I can’t believe my mom would pull something like that.” 

 

Buffy shrugged, trying to keep her face from giving away the ache she really felt at the thought of Jonah’s mother intentionally trying to hurt her. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter,” she said. Even though it wasn’t fine, even though it  _ did _ actually matter. Or at least, it felt like it was really starting to. 

 

Jonah pulled up to Buffy’s house, parking the car by the curb since there were already two other vehicles in the driveway. The clock on the dash read 6:19, and Buffy knew she was so much later than she was supposed to be, but she didn’t make a move to get out of the car quite yet. “Do you want to come in?” 

 

Jonah looked at her like she was giving him the best gift he could ever ask for. It broke Buffy’s heart. “Do you want me to?” 

 

“Yeah. Take a break from the crazy for a little bit.” 

 

They climbed out of the car.

* * *

 

As soon as Buffy opened the door, she heard laughter. The house smelled like warm cinnamon and pumpkin pie, and she could tell that everyone was already well into dessert. Jonah took her hand again, following after her into the dining room. When they walked in, everyone turned towards them. Buffy shot her dad an apologetic smile, but he didn’t look upset. Rather, he smiled back and started cutting each of them a slice of pie, the same way that Mr. Brodsky was. 

 

Jonah and Buffy each took a seat on the right side of the table, across from Walker and his sister, Abby. Buffy smiled at them, not expecting the rather grumpy look Walker had donned as soon as he saw Jonah walk in behind her. She looked away, trying to brush it off. She wasn’t going to let anything else dampen her night. Not after what she’d already dealt with. 

 

Like they did every year, both Mr. Driscoll and Mr. Brodsky bombarded everyone with questions about their respective pies. It was always a competition about whose was better, and it usually ended in a tie, due to the fact that there were usually only four people who could actually vote. This year, however, with Jonah present at the table, they had a tie breaker. 

 

“I mean no disrespect, Mr. Brodsky,” Jonah said once he’d finished both slices of pie he’d been given. “But I am kind of a sucker for cheesecake, so I have to go with Mr. Driscoll’s.” 

 

Buffy’s dad let out a whoop, which made everyone laugh. 

 

“Kiss-up!” Mr. Brodsky joked, which made everyone laugh just that bit more. 

 

Buffy grinned, leaning into Jonah’s side. Briefly, she thought they would have had a better time the whole night if they had just stayed with Buffy’s family instead of going over to Jonah’s place. But she had to admit, even after dealing with Jonah’s mom and Amber, she had enjoyed meeting Jonah’s relatives. That, at the very least, had been worth it. 

 

After dessert, Buffy walked Jonah to the door. “Thank you,” she said, “for staying.” 

 

Jonah smiled, lighter now than he’d been when they first got back. “I had fun.” 

 

“Be safe on the way back, okay?” 

 

Jonah nodded, tugging Buffy  into a quick hug before stepping out the door. “Goodnight, Buffy.” 

 

“Goodnight.”

* * *

 

In the kitchen, Buffy and Walker were tasked with putting the leftovers into tupperware containers and cleaning off the rest of the dishes. They worked in silence, mostly, which felt unnatural and unsettling. The music Buffy had turned on in the background felt too loud. 

 

“Is everything okay?” she asked finally, pausing in her work of scooping mashed potatoes into a container.

 

Walker sighed, continuing to scrub at the bowl he held. “I didn’t know Jonah was going to be here.” There was something about the comment that set Buffy on edge. She didn’t like the way Walker sounded like he was upset at her for bringing him. 

 

“There was a change of plans,” she said, voice sharp. “What, am I not allowed to bring my own boyfriend home?” 

 

Walker stiffened, biting his tongue. “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.” 

 

“Why not? Because you aren’t used to me actually having someone else to pay attention to? I don’t have to run every decision I make past you, Walker.” 

 

He sighed again, dropping the bowl back into the sink and rinsing off his hands. “I never said you did.” 

 

“Well, you sure are acting like it.” 

 

“Listen, Buffy, I’m not the one who missed out on dinner. And I’m not the one who broke an almost eight year tradition of breaking the wishbone. That’s on you.” 

 

After the night she’d had, Buffy felt like she was seeing red.  She slams the glass container down onto the counter, satisfied in the way Walker seemed to shrink back. “What is your  _ problem _ ? I wasn’t here for Thanksgiving dinner  _ one time _ ! So what? Not that it’s any of your business, Walker, but I wasn’t skipping out on dinner just to spite you. I was over at Jonah’s, meeting his family and listening to his mom and  _ Amber  _ talk about how I’m not good enough to be dating Jonah and how he should just get back with her the whole night.”

 

At the mention of Amber, Walker visibly deflated. “Buffy, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

 

Still fuming, Buffy turned away from him, going back to packing away the leftover mashed potatoes. “You never asked.” 

 

Walker sighed again, moving around the counter to stand beside her. He knocked his shoulder against hers, vying for her attention. “I’m sorry, Buffy.” He said again, “Forgive me?” 

 

She glanced over at him, fighting the small smile that was trying to break out over her face. “Fine,” she sighed, over exaggerated. “I’m tired of being mad, anyway.” She’d spent the whole night feeling that way; she figured at some point, she’d have to give it a rest.

 

“Really?  _ The _ Buffy Driscoll’s tired of being mad?” She rolled her eyes, more annoyed than angry. “Forget about the wishbone, all right? There’s always next year, and it sounds like you’ve had a rough enough evening as it is.”

 

“No kidding,” she said. She shoved the mashed potatoes in the already-full fridge, closing it when she managed to make it fit. “If I never have to see Amber again, it’ll  _ still _ be too soon.”

 

Walker laughed. “You’re still coming to my art show this Wednesday, right?” 

 

Buffy leaned against the counter next to Walker, nodding. She’d been planning on it  for the past month; she’d already arranged with their other friends to go. “Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 

When Walker bumped her in the shoulder, the air between them didn’t feel so stilted anymore, and Buffy was more than grateful for it. She’d already had part of her evening ruined; she didn’t need a rift between her and Walker to add to that.

* * *

 

Once all the food was put away and divided between the two families, and the Brodsky's had said goodbye, Buffy set to work getting ready for bed. She had just stepped out of the shower and made her way back to her room when her phone buzzed from its place on her nightstand. 

 

From: Jonah

 

_ im sorry things didnt turn out the way we planned _

_ im still glad i got to spend the day w/ u.  _

 

Buffy smiled down at her phone, sending off her reply before setting her phone down again in order to get dressed and climb into bed. 

 

From: Buffy

 

_ I’m glad I got to spend the day with you, too.  _

 

As she fell asleep that night, comforter pulled up to her chin, the last thing Buffy registered thinking was that maybe, just maybe, Jonah Beck was the thing she was most thankful for that year, too. 

 


End file.
